Sugar-Free Gum
by 30WaysToKillAPineapple
Summary: Updated. Marceline is a grumpy foreign exchange student from England who detests maths, and almost everyone she comes into contact with. Bonnibel is the golden girl at her new school. What happens when these two very different characters are forced together? Well, a lot of sark for one thing. Chapter 16. Bubbline. M for a reason.
1. Prologue

**Ahoy there! I've gotten into this show quite considerably, thanks to a guy I share classes with. So you can all blame him for this.**

**This is T for now, but _will _be M later so I'll do this now …**

**Usual warnings that go on all my stuff, M rated for a reason, yadda yadda yadda. Oh, and it's girl on girl. If you don't like it, don't read it. Simple.**

**I don't own AT (though I wish I did. Seriously.) or the characters involved, they belong to (the fabulous) Pendleton Ward.**

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Prologue

The quirky sound of a soprano ukulele fills the air in the music room and I sit with my boots propped against the windowsill. It's proving difficult to find the words for my new song, so I'm trying to pick out a few riffs on Duke the uke. Due to the expensive nature of my axe-bass, I've stopped bringing it to school. I'm sick of it getting bashed to bits during the crush between classes. Plus it's a _bitch _trying to carry it home on the train. So my substitute is Duke, who is little enough to stuff in my backpack during transit. I snort in frustration as I hit a bum note for the third time in a row and put Duke away, slinging my satchel off my shoulder and removing my books. The music room's empty except from me and I crack my knuckles in the silence.

I don't mind that I'm alone today – like always. The other kids avoided me as soon as I showed up here. It's been, like, three months and I'm still hanging around with nothing interested to do or anyone cool to talk to. They think I'm just that weird, loner kid with the dark clothes and pale complexion. Of course, no one is openly hostile toward me. I'm much too intimidating for that. Instead they avoid me like the plague and whisper about me in the hallways. _I heard she's from England. She looks so angry all the time. What do you think she does in that music room every day?_ It's all a bit tiring, honestly. My dad's always too busy with work to pay attention to his only daughter, and I haven't ever met my mother - it was always just dad and I - so he's really the only person I've spoken to in months. And isn't that just ridiculously sad.

It's not like I'm too shy to approach anyone; I just don't see why I have to go to them and make it look like I'm desperate for acceptance – 'cause I'm _not. _There don't really seem to be any kids worth my effort, so I've not done anything about making friends. I'm glad for the solitude, though, especially today. I've got an arse-load of maths homework to do. If I were surrounded by a squealing group of friends I'd never get it done. Maths is _hard._

As I chew my pen and squint at the equations on my paper I can't help but mull over my writer's block. One of my few talents is writing songs. And right now I can't think of a damn thing. A lack of inspiration has left me as dry as dust, creatively. Usually when I'm running low on fuel, I write something angsty aimed at my dad, but even that's wearing thin these days. I don't think there any other ways to say, "you suck, pay attention to me" that I haven't already tried.

I grunt, running a hand through my dark hair in frustration and throw my pen across the room. _Screw maths_, I think and slam my book into my bag, refusing to complete the stupid homework. The teacher's going to kill me; I've not finished a homework assignment since I got here.

Resigned to my fate, I thump my forehead down on the desk with a wince and proceed to snooze through the rest of lunch, only to be rudely awoken by the bell announcing the start of fifth period and my impending doom.

* * *

"Well, well, Marcie," Mr Canis sighs, folding his arms across his unspeakably hideous mustard blazer. "That's thirteen homework papers you've missed. What seems to be the problem?"

Mr Canis is cool, but he's one of those teachers who really tries to understand his pupils and I'm not really into that. He's overly enthusiastic about the most boring subject on the planet and tells the most _awful _jokes. Despite the fact that I should generally loathe the man for being the figurehead for my least favourite subject, I quite like him. Even though I don't want him to be friendly with me. Or ask me how I'm feeling today. Or why I don't have my homework.

I shrug, hoping he'll break and let me go to my next class. He deliberately kept me behind to ask about my repeated avoidance of the extra work and I can't help but feel like I'm letting him down.

"No, no. Not this time. I've been way too soft on you," he looks moderately annoyed, as though he realizes that I've been taking advantage of his generous nature for the past three months. I blush unhappily. "I mean it, Marcie. If you don't tell me what's going on, I'm going to be forced to talk to your parents."

With an unhappy grunt I stare down at his shoes uncomfortably, "I suck at maths."

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do!"

"Are you arguing with me?" He smiles and I scowl deeply. "You're better than you think you are. I think your view of your abilities is affecting the standard of your work, Marcie."

"It's Marceline," I mumble.

"Marceline," he corrects. "If I could get you one on one tuition, bring you up to speed on the areas you seem to be struggling with, I think that could help improve your outlook on your math-life." He's such a dork that I can't help but snigger, the thought of him tutoring me brightening the prospect of _extra _math classes.

"Can't I just flunk?"

"Not unless you want to spend next year with me, too."

I wince at the thought. "Fine. When do we start our lessons, then?"

He blinks at me, then smiles, standing from his perched seat on the edge of his faux-wood desk. "Sorry, I may have made that a bit unclear. _I _wont be tutoring you. I'm just going to get you the tuition." He laughs at my horrified face.

"Who the hell's going to be my tutor, then?" I sputter unattractively, unable to keep from frowning at him.

"Oh, I have a student in mind. Very dedicated, very smart. I think she'll really help you. You'll have seen her about the school most likely, she's a senior. Bonnibel Borrire."

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**Okay, so that's the prologue. I know that wasn't very steamy, but believe me, it'll get there. I want to take my time with this one.**

**If you're wondering about Bubblegum's name, her second name is 'bubble' in Latin (the language I'm studying right now).**

**All (or at least most) of the characters from Adventure Time will feature in this fic, so see if you can spot them through their guises as it goes on. The first is Mr Canis, an Internet cookie and a special place in my heart for anyone who can guess which character he is!**

**Please R&R, reviews are like crack to writers and I'm too poor to afford real crack.**


	2. Two to Tutor

**Well, hello again. Thanks to you three groovy bastards who commented, I love you very much. And to Nobody2012 and Thatkid, you were entirely right! Internet cookies for you both!**

**Alright. We're still going with T for this chapter, although there will be some profanity (mostly from Marceline. Surprise, surprise).**

**I don't own anything, blah, blah, blah, Pen Ward is a legend, blah, blah, blah.**

**On with the show!**

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Chapter 1: Two to Tutor

Mr Canis must be chuckling away to himself up in the teacher's lounge, congratulating himself for being so damn sneaky. I huff my annoyance and turn up the volume on my iPod, the oversized headphones are messing up my hair but I don't mind. It's worth it to drown out the hushed whispers of the school library.

The librarian herself looks about thirty and keeps shooting me dirty looks. She scurries from shelf to shelf, stacking then meticulously restacking the books, which have been haphazardly thrown into the wrong section. Every now and again you can hear her hissing at someone that, "this is a library, talking is unnecessary." She's actually very attractive for someone with a love for turtlenecks. She looks like a ballerina, poised on one foot, trying to reach the uppermost shelves of the bookcases. Her fine blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun only adds to my assumption that she is in fact a fan of the ballet. And a total prude.

The buzzing from my headphones is distracting her, I can tell. She keeps glancing at me, scowling, then mouthing something. But I'm not taking them off and she can't make me. I lean back in my chair and contemplate my situation.

I have to pass maths this year, lest I be stuck in it again.

I have to be tutored to pass. This in itself is horrible. It's bad enough that my pride gets wounded by being so unbelievably shitty at such a stupid subject, but then it takes another pounding when I have to admit to another human being how much I suck.

My teacher won't tutor me. He said he's seen me sitting alone every lunchtime and break since I came to this stupid school, and that some interaction with the other pupils will be _good for me_. Bullshit. It's not like I sit by myself feeling forlorn and dejected – I _choose _to be alone. I don't _want _to talk to these weirdos. I can barely understand their American accents, they talk so fast. And they seem to feel the need to say, "like" constantly. Even though I've begged and pleaded and threatened, he won't budge. He says it's pupil tutorage or he's going to speak to my dad.

Worst of all is, my tutor is Bonnibel Burrier. Stupid name, right? She's this hoity toity senior who's won loads of awards for her contributions to science. Seriously, what the hell has an eighteen-year-old done for the scientific community? Bugger all, probably. But she's like some sort of messiah at this school. It's fucking weird. You mention her and there's an immediate response with people. They _love _her. Though God only knows why, she sounds like a right dork to me. I asked around (much to my fellow students' distrust) and found out that she's the It girl here at Adventure High School. (Which, if you ask me, is also a stupid name.)

So he must think he's a bloody mastermind, setting me up with the most popular girl in school for tutoring. Probably thinking, "Good job, Mr Canis, she'll have plenty of friends in no time!" Well he's got another thing coming if he thinks I'm going to suck up to this girl just so I have someone to eat my lunch with! Screw him and his stupid blazer.

My inner rant is distracted by a hand on my shoulder and I whip around in my seat instinctively.

"Jesus! Would you get off me, woman? I'm not turning down my mus-," I stutter to a halt.

Where I had expected the hand of the librarian to be, I'm met with five perfectly French manicured nails, a small gold band with a turquoise stone placed daintily on the middle finger. My gaze travels up from her hand to her thin wrist, her gently curved forearm, all the way past her sloped shoulder to her smile.

She has those perfect white American teeth and a big, toothpaste ad smile. I frown at her and shake off her hand.

The perfect smile falters and I watch as her green-blue eyes go from welcoming to instant dislike.

"I thought you were the librarian," I mutter, shrugging listlessly. I remove my headphones, leaving them to adorn my neck and pause to glare at a group of girls who have turned to look at me and _Bonnibel_. "Let's just get this over with."

With a resigned sort of sigh, she seats herself across from me at the little desk in the corner of the library and stares directly at me, getting straight to the point. "I don't want to be here as much as you," she says and I can't help but be shocked. I just assumed she was going to be all bright and bubbly about this tutoring bollocks. "I would rather be in my boyfriend's car than in here with you."

I glare at the way she says, "with you". There's a distinct note of disgust in her tone, and I can tell she already hates me. Well, good. I don't much care for her, either.

"Well, why don't you go off with your boyfriend and Mr Canis can tutor me. I'd rather get a proper tutor, anyway." I deadpan, quite honestly hoping she'll decide to take up my offer.

"What does that mean, 'a proper tutor'?" Her eyes have narrowed dangerously and I can tell that she isn't used to having her intelligence questioned.

"It means," I shrug. "That I'd rather have a tutor who's qualified to teach and actually knows what they're talking about."

By the way that she bristles I know I've really hit a nerve.

"_Knows what they're talking about?_" she screeches, only to be shushed by the librarian. "I know _exactly_ what I'm _talking about_," her voice drops to a whisper but her fair cheeks have gone scarlet. This chick has quite a temper. I grin.

"What the hell are you smiling about? I've been doing more complicated maths than this since I was eight, I've won awards, and I've been given certificates and medals for my work. I could do your level of work in my sleep!" her strawberry blonde hair is coming from her loose bun, falling it little wisps around her thin neck. I can't help but admire the gentle slimness of her neck.

I stare at her blankly, unimpressed. "Do it, then." I offer.

"I-wait, what? Do what, then?"

"Do my homework if it's so easy."

"_Excuse me?_"

The librarian flits over and slams a book down on the desk between me and Miss Priss, causing us both to jump. "Right. Both of you; get out of my library. You're distracting everyone."

Bonnibel and I share a look and stand, me slinging my satchel over my shoulder, her grabbing her stupidly tiny little clutch bag.

"Sorry, Miss," she offers the librarian who 'harrumphs' in response as we leave.

Stepping deliberately in front of her to make my escape after the confines of the library, I'm stopped by a hand on my wrist.

"Look, I'm not doing this for the good of my health, I owe Mr Canis a favour, so I _have _to tutor you, whether I like it or not."

"Bugger off, Blondie. I'd rather flunk the class than spend three nights a week having to put up with you." I spin out of her grasp, flip her the bird and strut off, shoving my headphones back over my ears.

It's close to five when I get home from school, my legs aching from the four-mile walk.

Since we moved to America, we've been living in a cave. Well, not really. It's one of a bunch of little houses all smack bang under a weird rock formation. The little mountain at the edge of our town basically hangs over half our house and the houses of our neighbours, like a big mouth waiting to swallow us. This means that from my bedroom in the converted attic I can stick my head out of the skylight by standing on my bed, and about fifty feet above me is sky, then rock a little over to the right. I'm pretty sure with a decent pair of climbing boots, a lot of rope and something to attach the rope to on the mountain itself, I could create the perfect escape route. Not that there's anything worth sneaking out for in this place.

Back in Blyth there was nothing to do apart from sit around in parks, smoke whatever we could afford and play music. I used to sneak out all the time back then, but I left my best friends in the world to come here for my dad. His _stupid _work transferred him here. He's in the 'souls' business. He's basically an actuary, but he likes to think that his work is more to do with the people themselves rather than just the mishaps that befall them. Bollocks, if you ask me. He's just a poser in a suit. And he keeps going on at me to take up the "family business". Well, screw that. And him. I want to make music. It's all I've ever wanted to do. I'm not changing who I am to please him.

I drop my bag at the front door, slamming it behind me. "I'm home, dad!" I yell, waiting for him to actually notice my presence. The usual reply comes right on cue.

"Dinner's in the microwave," I hear my father roar from his room upstairs.

Rolling my pale eyes, I make my way through our cluttered hallway into the kitchen. Running my hand along the marble worktops I find myself thinking about Bonnibel. It's been a week since I stormed off and left her standing outside the library. Mr Canis has been off with the cold, but the substitute told us he'd be back tomorrow, which means I have less than 24 hours before he kills me for insulting his top pupil's intelligence.

I know I was being incredibly rude to her. I actually feel a bit bad about it. But no one is taking into account how _humiliated _I am. I don't _want _to have to be tutored! I hate feeling inferior to anybody, but mostly that stuck up bitch. So what if she can shit out a Masters degree in mathematics? She still doesn't need to be such a patronizing twat. Still … I was an arse myself, so I'm not really one to talk.

A guilty headache has settled between my eyes and made it's home there as I pluck my spaghetti Bolognese from the microwave. Snatching up a fork and shoving the first mouthful in, I sit at the brunch bar, wondering what the hell I'm going to do.

I could ditch school tomorrow. Pretend to be sick. But then the problem would just be there the next time I went in and Mr Canis would _know _I'd deliberately stayed off to avoid him. I could get a private tutor, but that takes money. I don't have a job and if my dad finds out I need help with school he's going to insist that I drop out and take up the family fucking business. Which leaves me with one alternative.

I need to apologise to Bonnibel and get her to agree to tutor me before tomorrow morning. Shit.

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**Well, that's chapter two! Stick around to see if Marceline can convince Bonnibel to tutor her! I'm sure she can find a way ... ;)**


	3. Apologies, apologies

**All right, folks, thanks for reviewing, giving me praise, and generally just being awesome! Those of you who are silently favouriting or even just reading quietly to yourselves, I love you too!**

**Okay. Chapter two is still T rated, but there will be profanity, mentions of sex and drug-use, but nothing too heavy.**

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Chapter 2: Apologies, apologies.

The bowl of spaghetti hits the counter with a bone-china thump.

Oh, holy _shitballs_! I need to apologise _now_, if I'm going to clear this up by morning. There's just one little problem with this. I have _no idea where she lives_!

I groan aloud to myself, holding my head in my hands just as my dad walks into the kitchen behind me.

"What's up, Marcie-kins? Rough day at school? You know you wouldn't be having a bad day if you just took up the family bus-"

"NOT NOW, DAD," I yell at him, my hands curled in white-knuckled fists. "Can't you see I'm trying to think?!"

He doesn't even react to my outburst, just picks up my forgotten bowl of spaghetti and resumes munching where I left off.

"Just let me know when you want to start, then," he says around a mouthful of pasta.

With an irritated exclamation and a violent gesture which is a cross between the one finger salute and the universal sign for 'wanker', I storm off to my room, thumping my way up the two flights of stairs.

It's amazing that someone who I look so much alike is so different to me. One of the main reasons I've never given much thought to my mother is the fact that I look exactly like a female version of my dad. Black hair. Pale skin. Ice-blue eyes. Between the elongated face and the straight nose, the only thing that really separates us is our gender. I'm basically him with boobs, minus the 5 o'clock shadow.

But he's so bloody dense to my needs! He's only concerned with me following in his footsteps. Not how I actually _feel _about stuff.

I punch my wardrobe door hard enough that it slams open, staring at myself in the inside mirror. I look tired and my pale eyes are rimmed with red.

With a determined huff I grab my leather jacket and turn from my room, knowing what I have to do.

* * *

There's a park not too far from my house. On my way home from school every day I see the usual high school junkies lounging about smoking weed, laughing at each other on the swing set. I decide that they're my best bet for finding out where Miss Pr-I mean, Bonnibel lives.

When I reach them I lift my hand in a half-wave. There's two guys and a girl. One guy is tall and lanky with major stubble issues and light brown, shaggy hair. The other is short and chubby with a goatee and thick eyebrows and a buzz-cut. It's the girl who spots me, though. I admire her bravery, wearing a beehive with such an insouciant attitude. She squints at me as I approach the three of them, lying on the grass.

"Woah, are you like a vampire or something, dude? You're way pale," she drawls, half smirking at me.

"Uh … no."

She whistles. "Geez, she's got like a whole 'nother accent! You British?" I nod impatiently.

"Do you guys know where Bonnibel Burrier lives? I need to talk to her pronto."

The lanky stoner blinks at me then bursts out laughing; I fight to keep my temper.

"This chick wants a word with the Princess! You need a court appointment, baby," he guffaws, and I can tell from the way that he's squinting at me that he's checking me out.

The chubby one chuckles, "She lives at the bottom of Dud Lane, you know where that is?"

I shake my head, grateful at least for a street name.

"I'll take you," says the lanky one, groaning as he stands from his place on the grass. "It's not that far from here, anyway. Catch you guys later, I guess."

They wave their goodbyes to their friend and I thank the two stoners we've left behind as Lanky and I turn to leave.

"You're the new kid at Adventure', aren't you?" he asks. "I'm a senior, there. I don't turn up much, though."

When I don't answer and continue following him in silence he tries again. "I'm Lupin."

"Marceline."

"Sweet."

It's fairly obvious that I'm making him uncomfortable with my attitude, so I relent a little. "You got a fag?"

"Like a smoke?"

"Yeah. That."

"Sure," he takes a silver cigarette case from his faded jeans and hands it to me.

They're home-rolled and thick, so I'm forced to ask, "These are just tobacco, right?" No sense in trying to appeal to Bonnibel when I'm baked.

"Yeah. Bongo has the 'good stuff'. You ever blazed before?" he grins at me.

"Uh huh," I reply, accepting his offer for a lighter and automatically draw a lungful of the intoxicating smoke into my chest.

As I blow out I see Lupin staring at me.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing. That's her house over there," he points to a detached house at the bottom of the cul-de-sac we're standing at the mouth of.

"Thanks, Lupin. For the fag, too," I smile at him and watch with a disconnected pleasure as he blushes.

"Uh, anytime. Good luck with Princess, by the way," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his head.

"Cheers," I wave to him as I stride towards Bonnibel's house, breaking into a light jog.

* * *

When I reach her front door I pause before knocking. One of the upstairs lights is on, but her pink Mini Cooper convertible (just ew), which she drives to school isn't in the driveway. There's a black Sedan, but nothing else. What do I do if she isn't in? Leave a message with a sibling or something? I stub out my cigarette with the heel of my boot and bite the bullet.

It takes about three minutes for her to answer the door, during which time I had knocked over and over, with a little doorbell ringing for good luck.

"_God_, what do you wan … what are _you _doing here," her blonde hair is fluffy and matted and I can see a brand-new hickey adorning her collarbone, on show due to the fact that her blouse is unbuttoned dangerously low. The bite in her tone and her glare doesn't seem as scary when I hear a distinctly male voice asking who's at the door.

"Holy shit, Princess, I pegged you for a prude," I can't help but say.

"Get the hell off my doorstep!" she screams at me, trying to slam the door in my face.

I stick my boot in the doorway, blocking her escape, holding my hands up in defence. "Look, I'm really sorry! I apologise for being such a bitch earlier, and for giving you the finger, and calling you an idiot, and a prude …" I attempt to give her what I think is a contrite smile. She's glaring at me, arms folded across her chest.

"Is there, um, any chance you'll be my tutor?"

"… you're kidding, right?"

"Uh … no?"

"You think you can act like a total diva, say you're sorry and I'm just going to accept that and agree to spend _my _time going over _your _work?"

"Uh …"

"Quite honestly, Marcie, I heard you were a bitch. I thought maybe you were just shy. Just shows you what I know. The answer's no. I'm not tutoring you."

I watch, panicking as she turns from me and I find myself yelling, "I'll pay you!"

"I don't want your money," she's trying to close the door on my boot, but I refuse to budge.

"I-I-I'll, uh, do something for you? Anything you like," I yell, wincing at my desperate tone.

A small surge of relief flows through me when she pauses, cracking the door a little wider.

"Anything?"

Oh, I really don't like the look in her eyes.

* * *

How did this happen? Seriously, how did I get myself in _this _situation?

Oh, right. My inability to do maths. Christ almighty, the things I'll do not to drop out of school.

I'm sitting on Bonnibel's carpet while her and her boyfriend are _occupied. _

Thankfully, I have my iPod, so I'm drowning out the sound of their activity with some music, studying Bonnibel's room to give myself something to look at.

At first glance it's all overwhelmingly pink. Everything. Walls, carpet, lampshades, curtains, you name it. All a bright fuchsia. But the longer I look, I get a glimpse of what Bonnibel is really like. There's science stuff _everywhere_. Bits of paper with equations and little test tubes and beakers littering her white (weirdly enough) desk. But the posters on her walls are what catch my eye.

Her taste in music is _good_. There are a couple of ones I don't know (they appear a little too 'boy band' for my own personal taste) but apart from those I seriously dig her her musical choices. It seems to range from Bon Iver to Slayer. Which is too weird for words seeing as it's _Bonnibel. _

Still, this is a seriously weird situation, so I guess anything goes.

My job is to act as a cover for Bonnibel's little meetings with her BF, Adventure's linebacker and supreme jock. I honestly don't understand how she can concentrate on him while I'm sitting on her carpet, counting the cracks in the ceiling. But I don't have a choice. This is the price I have to pay for being an uber-bitch to her last week. The plus side is, she's promised to tutor me three times a week and to refrain from telling Mr Canis that I was a jerk. I have to provide the place we study, as well as be available for boyfriend-cover 24/7, but overall it's been a pretty good deal.

As soon as her parents come back – what was his name again? Finn? – needs to sneak out the house and I'll be the cover story. So technically I'm Miss Priss' new best friend. As you can probably tell, I'm not exactly ecstatic about that.

But it's only until I pass maths.

_God_, I hate my life sometimes.

* * *

**Well, there you have it. Poor Marceline, eh?**

**Okay, so in this universe Bonnibel's dating Finn (who's a senior too.)**

***But who can tell me who the three stoners are? This one's sort of a trick question, but the clues are there!**

**Whoever guesses correctly first wins a prize – they can suggest a cover art idea and I will draw/paint it and put it up!***

**R&R folks!**


	4. Friendly beginnings

**Okay, I'm doing this chapter early because it beats finishing my dissertation :/**

**We're getting close to the M, I promise. T for language, references to sex, alcohol and drugs.**

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Chapter 3: Friendly Beginnings

His smile lights up the near-empty classroom as Bonnibel and I stand before Mr Canis, me with my hands shoved deep in the pockets of my shorts and Princess with hands perched daintily on hips.

"Well, this is fabulous!" he beams at us, coughing deeply into his orange lace handkerchief after a slight hesitation. His eyes look watery and when I glance to the side, Bonnibel is subtly leaning back from him. I smirk to myself. "You two will make a great team, I can just tell. What's the study plan, then, girls?"

Bonnibel looks at me expectantly and I speak for the first time since he called us into his class for a word. "We'll meet on Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays. And we're meeting at my house. It's quiet there, so I can concentrate."

"Of course, Marcie's going to give me directions there tonight, seeing as this is our first session. Aren't you?" Her overly bright tone is nauseating and after staying in her bedroom for four bloody hours last night while her boyfriend went down on her (my music, by the way, was not sufficiently loud, I hate to inform you) I'm wishing I never had to hear it again.

"Marceline," I snap. "And yes. Tonight's the first one."

Mr Canis looks somewhat confused by the exchange between us. Princess is smirking at me and I'm glowering right back at her. But it's stalemate. I need her and she needs me if she wants to have Finn stay over and get away with it.

"Well, that's … good." He says slowly before interrupting himself with another bout of coughing. "Here are some things to go over, then. Happy teaching," he says to Princess directly, handing her an (irritatingly thick) folder of math-junk.

As we leave his classroom, Bonnibel stops me by putting her hand on my shoulder. I shake her off, irritated.

"Oi, no touchy! I know where those hands were last night, thank you very much!" I growl, shuddering to myself.

She goes a disturbingly bright pink and glares at me, "Watch it. We agreed you wouldn't mention the 'deal' at school. You aren't supposed to know the extent of my relationship with Finn. As far as everyone else is concerned, I'm just your tutor."

"Fine, so long as you don't touch me, Bonnibel."

"Geez, fine," she huffs, rolling her eyes. "I wanted to tell you, though. You don't have to keep calling me Bonnibel. You can call me Bonnie. I mean, if you want."

"Can't I just call you Princess?"

"Wha-no! Why the hell would you call me that?"

"Lots of people call you it," I shrug.

She bristles and I find myself grinning again. "Like who?"

"Lupin."

"Who?"

Speak of the devil, I think to myself as I spot Lupin across the hall, talking to the chick-stoner.

"YO, Lupin!" I yell, waving my arm to get his attention.

He looks up from his conversation and waves back at me, mirroring my arm-wave. I grin.

"He's Lupin," I point, looking back at Bonnibel.

It's obvious she recognizes him; I can see it in the firm way her jaw suddenly sets.

I'm genuinely intrigued by her reaction, so I ask, "What, you don't like him?"

"No. Not particularly," she sniffs. "Do you have a car?" I shake my head. "Oh, for God's sake. Fine, I'll give you a lift after school, you can give me directions that way."

As she saunters off, I can't help but watch her go, the nutter. When I turn around, Lupin's standing beside me.

"Ready to kill yourself, yet?" he asks.

"Just about."

We share a knowing smile and I realize that I've made my first friend at my new school.

* * *

It turns out Lupin plays keyboard and piano, something which I take full advantage of during lunch, forcing him to show me what he can do. He's actually very talented, though he has a tendency to sing while he plays and he _cannot_ sing.

"Do you think you could play something I've written?" I ask tentatively, plucking a few chords on Duke while he sits at the old upright in the 3rd music room.

He seems surprised by this. "You write your own stuff?" I nod. "And you want me to play it?"

"I think all that weed is making you stupid, Lupin."

He laughs, "You got sheet music?"

"No, but I can show you the chords if you like."

"Go for it, babe."

I snort at the term of endearment, but shuffle over to him none-the-less. It's a tight squeeze with both of us on the same piano stool, and to my embarrassment I feel myself starting to blush due to the fact that I'm basically pressed up against him.

With a little laugh he shuffles over some more, giving me room to breathe. He stops laughing when I start to play, though.

There are very few instruments that I can't play. Remember I told you that one of my few talents was writing songs? Well, my only other talents include drinking an absurd amount without passing out, and being all around gifted with instruments. Oh, and I sing, too. Of course, other than that, I'm basically useless.

"_Come on darling set me free,_

_Who do you want me to be?_

_Build me up and break me down,_

_I'd do anything for you._

_Oh, ohhh, ohhh._

_I'd do everything for you. _

_Let me in, I'm begging, please,_

_Can't you see I'm on my knees?_

_I just want to keep you around,_

_I'd do anything for you._

_Oh, ohhh, ohhh._

_I'd do everything for you._"

When I finish singing, there're a couple more chords left then silence. I'm very aware of the fact that he's staring hard at me. I glance up at him, "Uh, there's another three verses, but that's basically it. Think you've got it?"

"… yeah. I think so. You should come have lunch with me and the gang tomorrow, Marceline. You're way cool."

I grin like a big sap, and suddenly feel a rush of warmth in my chest.

* * *

"You're _late_, Princess," I glare as I hop into her tiny, pink car. She looks harassed and irritated, so I relent. "Bad day?"

A brief flash of surprise flits across her features and I realize she didn't expect me to be pleasant. Although, who can blame her for that?

"Not exactly. But we need to give Finn a ride home, so I had to clear out my back seat. That's why I'm late," she explains. "His practice finishes in ten minutes, so we need to wait here for him."

I groan. "What? I'm _starving. _Can't he just walk home like a normal person?"

"It's, like, four _miles_, Marceline," she stares at me as though _I'm _the crazy one.

"So?"

"That's a long walk."

"Oh, come _on. _I do that walk _twice _every day and it doesn't do me any harm," I gesture to my body. I'm fit; healthy and curvy in all the right places thanks to that walk.

I cock an eyebrow at her when she basically checks me out. "Uh, Princess?"

To my surprise she laughs when she realizes what she's doing, "Don't flatter yourself." She smirks at me. "You do have a great figure, though. I didn't notice at first, what with the way you dress and everything."

"And what the hell's wrong with the way I dress?"

"Nothing, it's just not very … feminine."

I glance at my baggy shorts and t-shirt, topped off with a grey cheque shirt and flip-flops. "Okay, I see your point. But at least I don't dress like someone spilled Pepto-Bismol on me," I gesture to her overload on pink.

"I like pink," she pouts.

"I noticed."

There's a weird silence after that, and we just kind of stare at each other, with her biting her lip. Thankfully, Finn breaks the tension by hauling open the little side door and cramming his massive self into Bonnibel's teeny-tiny car.

"Finn, baby!" she squeals when he drops his muddy boots on her (obviously just cleaned) leather seat.

"Sorry, Bonnie, but I can't put them in my bag, they'll get mud on my History paper." He kisses her sweetly on the cheek by leaning over the console and we drive out of the school parking lot.

"You all right, Marcie?" he juts his weirdly square chin up at me, and I groan.

"It's Marceline. Not Marcie. Why does everybody keep _doing _that?" I ask the car at large. "But, yeah. I'm fine."

There's another awkward silence as we realize that the last time the three of us were together, two of us were having sex.

Finn coughs and runs a hand through his blonde hair. He's the picture of American health. Blonde. Tanned. Built like a brick shit-house. With the same tooth-paste ad smile as his girlfriend. He is very cute, I'll give Princess that much. But if he's anything like an American stereotype, I don't know how she can put up with a hot – but dumb – football player.

"How's your paper going on the economical climate and its effects on society, Finn?"

"Oh, it's fine. I've been getting A's for essays with way less effort than I'm putting into this one, so it'll be okay."

Uh. Okay, so he's hot _and _smart. Go figure.

"Finn's going to study economics at college, aren't you baby?" Bonnibel grins while watching the road.

He nods, then turns to me, "I heard you suck at math."

"Finn!"

"What? You're the one that said it," he looks genuinely confused as to why girlfriend appears to be mortified. I take it back, maybe he _is_ a dumbass.

I sigh heavily. "It's all right, Princess - unclench. Yeah, Finn. I suck at maths."

"And that's why she's tutoring you, right. There's something I don't get, though."

"What?" Bonnibel and I look at each other as we speak together. Weird.

"Why do you have to be there while me and Bonnie are hooking up?"

I snigger as Bonnibel blushes furiously. "Because your girlfriend doesn't want her parents knowing she's fucking the linebacker at school. I'm her cover story from now on. But you still need to keep sneaking out the window, otherwise her parents are going to think we're _both _fucking you."

Finn and I guffaw as Princess splutters at my summation, muttering about how it's just easier than making up excuses about homework all the time. I decide I like Finn. He isn't as much of a pain as I thought he would be. We even fist bump when he gets out of the car, calling to us both as we drive away from his house.

"Okay. Where do you live?" Bonnibel asks me.

I sigh. It's time to get Math-ed up.

* * *

As I let her in the front door, I kick a few pairs of shoes to the edges of the hallway, clearing a path. I make a mental note to tidy up after Bonnibel leaves.

"I'm eating before we start this shit. My dad works late on Monday's so if you want hot food, I need to cook. I'm going to make something whether you eat or not, but since you're going to be here for a while yet, you might as well eat with me. Is there something you particularly want? The fridge is full." I ask as I make my way to the kitchen, leaving her trailing in behind me.

She settles herself at the brunch bar while I dump my shirt on a chair, rolling up my t-shirt sleeves.

"You seem too grungy to be able to cook," she quirks an eyebrow until I sigh, waving my hand as though to say, _get on with it. What do you want to eat? _"Do you have any sushi?"

After rummaging around my freshly restocked fridge I chuck one of those little pre-packaged sushi selections at her, "Dinner for you." I come up from the fridge with two beers and a box of strawberries. "Dinner for me," I grin, handing her a beer.

She makes a face and stares at the bottle, "Are you serious?"

"You want Gatorade, instead?"

"I meant the strawberries, actually. I was checking to see if it was cheap beer."

"Snob," I scoff, popping a strawberry into my mouth. "Anyway, fruit's good for you. And I don't really eat much. I've never had a huge appetite."

"You really think I'm a goody-goody, don't you."

I'm taken by surprise by the question (although it's really more of a statement). "Well, you _are _a geek. Geeks are usually pretty straight edge."

"You know that it's wrong to assume stuff about people, right?" she tilts her head at me, as though I'm some sort of science experiment. I feel my face becoming hot.

"Jesus, sorry, didn't realize you were so touchy."

"I'm not. I just think that if we're going to spend a lot of time together you need to stop making assumptions about me."

"… Yeah, sorry." I can't help but feel like a bit of a dick.

"That's okay." She smiles at me and my stomach flips weirdly. Must be the guilt. "C'mon, let's take this upstairs. I wanna see what _your _bedroom's like. God knows you've seen mine."

I snort, offering to carry her beer as she munches her sushi on the way up to my room. "That's an understatement. Do your sessions with Finn usually last that long? 'Cause if they do, I'm bringing a book next time."

Slumping down on the edge of my bed, I watch as she laughs, popping the cap on her beer bottle and flopping down on my carpet, legs crossed. "No, actually. That's the first time we've gone that far. I was always too worried about my parents walking in on us to relax enough to do it. Knowing I had a cover helped me relax. So I guess I should thank you."

"That's okay, you really don't have to," I grimace and crack open my beer. "So what maths are we doing to start off, then?" She doesn't answer, just smiles at me.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just glad you weren't a bitch after all." Before I have a chance to process that, she continues. "We'll start off with Polynomials. Those are fun."

A girl who thinks _polynomials _are fun is sitting on my carpet, drinking my beer. Sometimes my life is just too weird.

* * *

**Well, that's chapter three, anyway. G'night, folks, remember to R&R!**


	5. Rude Awakening

**Congratulations to Nobody2012, who won first prize (I'm working on their suggestion for the cover art over the next week, eeee)!**

**But I have to apologise. My daily updates will most likely cease after this point. I was on my Christmas break up until today (so I'm writing this one quickly before I have to do the coursework I've been putting off for two weeks D: ). Please watch this space, though! I'm determined to add a chapter whenever I have some free time.**

**Alright. This one should _probably _be marked M, but I'm guessing that T will do for now. So, girlxgirl sex (ish), drugs, booze, hangovers, math homework and absurd amounts of hair are to be expected from this particular chapter.**

**I own nothing, I just like messing with other people's fictional creations.**

* * *

Chapter 4: Rude Awakening

Her hands are everywhere all at once. I pant and writhe and buck against her, tugging at her hair to slow down. Everything's so blurred and hazy that I can't tell where I end and she begins. I glance down and note absently that her blonde hair looks silver in the moonlight, which is streaming from the open window above us. I yelp as she curls her fingers, and suddenly everything's going black, my body wracked with waves of a pleasure so intense it's painful.

Then suddenly she's kissing me, and when I realize the heady flavour on her tongue is _me_, I feel myself coming undone all over again.

"Marcie-kins, you're going to be late for school," she whispers to me hotly, placing wet kisses against my ear.

…

Wait-what?

I sit up suddenly, and realize that I'm alone in my bedroom. That I was dreaming. And a tentative stroke of my fingers against the gusset of my underwear confirms that I just had a wet dream about my new tutor.

"Did you hear me, Marceline? You're going to be late!" my Dad yells from downstairs and a glance at my watch on the bedside table, which blinks at me, telling me I have ten minutes to get to school.

"Oh-_shit_," I yelp, jumping from my bed. I attempt to ignore the fact that my legs feel like jelly and I'm still distinctly turned on. It's all just too weird to contemplate right now.

After throwing on clothes which don't match and make me look somewhat homeless I run full pelt from my room, sliding down the banister and hit the ground running in the hallway. I snatch up my bag and throw a, "Later!" at my dad as I sprint from the house.

While I'm running I realize two things. The first being that I forgot to lift my English homework from my desk – damn it - the second being that I had a sex dream about _Bonnibel._ Seriously, just ew. That has _never _happened before. Sure, I've had my fair share of dreams of that particular nature, but never about a _girl_. I'm straight. Not gay. And even if I _did _swing that way, I wouldn't go for _Princess_. She's just too … I mean she's …

Whatever. I don't dig chicks.

* * *

When I eventually reach the school gates first session is almost over and I'm breathing hard. I'm pressing at the stitch in my side when I hear a familiar voice calling to me.

Lupin and his friends are lounging about behind a group of dense trees hidden from view from the school. He sticks his head into view and waves me over.

"Hey," I puff, doubling over to catch my breath.

"I was going to introduce you at lunch, but I may as well do it now. Marceline, this is Bongo and Keila. Guys, this is Marceline." Lupin taps my back as the other two nod their hellos. "You alright, babe?"

"I ran from my house," I admit. "Slept in."

Bongo is the first to laugh, "Seriously? That's dedication to education! You need to relax a little." I watch as him and Lupin share a grin.

"You wanna roll?" Lupin asks me.

Well, it's been _ages _since I've smoked anything other than a cigarette, what harm can it do, really?

* * *

"O-oh, my God. Say 'bacon' again," Keila giggles and I'm half doubled over with laughter as I try to say it for the fortieth time.

"She sounds Jamaican!" Bongo howls, his dark eyes red-rimmed and half-closed.

It must be close to the end of second session and I've still not gone into school, yet. Two joints shared between me and Keila, with Bongo and Lupin sharing two of their own have left us all giggling like idiots as we discuss my accent.

"What part of England did you come from anyway?" she asks, and I smile wistfully.

"Blyth."

"What's it like?"

"Smaller than this. But busier. There are always people out at night and someone's always having a party."

"Sounds like our kind of scene!" Bongo laughs.

"I think you guys would've like my old friends. They were cool, too."

"Yeah, 'cause Bongo's _so cool_," Keila deadpans and we burst into fresh giggles.

Lupin's lying on his back, eyes closed, with a content smile plastered over his features.

"How's the math tutoring going?" he asks me, cutting through the laughter.

I grimace. "It's alright. We had our first lesson last night. She's actually really helpful, though I hate to admit it." I'm still weirded out by my dream, which keeps coming back to me.

"I like her."

We all turn to stare at Keila, who has taken it upon herself to use my lap as a pillow, her dark curly hair spilling across my knees.

"_Why_?" Lupin asks, sitting up.

"She's smart. And funny."

"Why the hell would you like her after what she did to us?"

"What did she do to you?" I ask, interest piqued.

"She didn't really do anything to _us_. Just Lupin," Bongo affirms, all traces of laughter gone from his face.

Lupin groans, and I stare at each of them in turn. "Will somebody tell me what happened, or do I have to ask Bonnibel?"

"We used to date," he admits, and I can't help but be shocked. They're nothing like each other. "But that's probably too strong a term for it."

"They used to hook up," Keila supplies helpfully from my lap and I snort when Lupin growls at her.

"It was casual, but I really liked her. She broke it off the day before a party she was hosting that we were supposed to play at. I lost my girlfriend and we lost a gig."

"Wait, you guys are in a band?" I can't help but focus on this, due to the fact that I sorely need new jamming buddies.

Lupin looks a little irritated that I didn't say anything comforting or at least degrading about Bonnibel, but nods anyway, "I play the keyboards, Bongo's on drums and Keila plays guitar and sings."

"That's great!"

"It is?" Bongo asks, blearily blinking at me. "We kind of suck."

Keila pipes up, "Lupe' says you play bass."

I nod, grinning at them and they share a look between themselves.

"Wanna be in the band?"

* * *

The effects of the drugs have worn off by lunch, and I'm surprised when Bonnibel corners me outside the canteen.

"Hey, I handed in the work you did to Mr Canis, this morning. Thanks for the food last night," she smiles, then peers closely at me. "Are you okay? You're all red."

The awkward little details of my dream last night are coming back to me, and I can feel my blush travelling down my spine.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumble and give myself a shake. It was just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. "I'll see you Thursday, okay?"

"Wait," she grabs my hand, quickly dropping it and mouthing 'no touchy'. I can't help but smile. "Can you come over tomorrow night? I want to have Finn over. You can bring a book or we can put a movie on or something." She's whispering to me, trying to avoid anyone over-hearing our little agreement. I wince as I feel her breath on my neck.

I nod, "Yeah, whatever you like." Half waving at her, I slip away and practically run to the table where Lupin and the guys are sitting in the canteen.

Keila shuffles over to make room for me on the plastic seat and I realize I left my lunch in the fridge. Perfect.

"Jam session tomorrow night, then, guys?" Bongo says hopefully, demolishing his instant ramen with gusto.

The other two nod while I groan.

"What?"

"I have plans with Bonnibel, sorry," my apology is genuine. I'd much rather play with these guys than listen to Bonnibel get off.

"I thought your tutor days were Monday, Thursday and Saturday?" Lupin looks confused and a little hurt that I'm turning them down so soon.

"Uh, they are. But she asked me to go over tomorrow."

"Just cancel," Keila says, glancing at Lupin then me.

"I-I can't. I said I'd go. Plus, she asked first."

Bongo shrugs, "There's only one solution, then."

"What?" we ask in unison.

"Jam session at mine tonight, instead."

I grin and agree, accepting half of Lupin's chicken wrap.

* * *

**Okay, I know it was short, but the next one's going to be _really _long. I promise. It should be up on Saturday, or then abouts.**

**Show me you love me and R&R!**


	6. Party Traumatic

**Okay, here it is, the long awaited (though not really, because I broke and wrote this in bed) chapter 5! Did you miss me? Huh?**

**Well, the T rating is coming down after this chapter, I'm afraid. I can practically hear my views dropping as I type that. But oh, well. Wouldn't want to make folks uncomfortable, am I right?**

**Thank you for the lovely reviews, they keep me inspired!**

* * *

Chapter 5: Party Traumatic

Bonnibel taps my shoulder gently and I remove my headphones, glancing back at her from my book.

"Finn's just left," she says with the wide grin of someone in a post-coital haze, nodding at the open window.

I groan as I rise to my feet, "Good. I'm starving. See you later, Princess."

"Wait," she says, sitting up. She's only got her underwear on, so I find myself looking anywhere but directly at her. "Do you want to stay for dinner? I'm going to get a Nandos delivered."

The prospect of Peri-Peri chicken does sound _very _appealing. But …

"Nah, I have to go," I start to turn away before she stops me again.

"Are you alright? You've been acting weird with me, today," she's pulling on a t-shirt as she says this, her shoulder-length hair fuzzy and matted at the back.

The truth is I'm _not _okay. It's been a month since I had that dream about her, and my school life has finally started to liven up. Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays Bonnibel tutors me, and to my shock and awe, I'm actually getting better with her help. Tuesdays I have band rehearsal with Lupin and Co. and my Wednesdays and Fridays are just as often spent at Bonnibel's house reading my book while her and Finn hook up. But I'm worried about that dream. It shouldn't be a big deal, but I'm starting to think I might genuinely have a thing for Bonnibel, and the fact that I'm practically always around her isn't making it any easier to figure out what I'm feeling.

Worse than that, I think Lupin is crushing on me. And he keeps making little digs about Bonnibel that are really starting to get on my nerves. I really want to like him as more than a friend … but I'm just not interested.

I think I actually _miss _having no one to talk to. Everything was so much easier.

Something tells me that it's better not to keep lying to Bonnibel, so I opt for telling her the truth. Or at least some of it.

"Well … Not really," I start tentatively, and she pats her bed, willing me to sit down and spill.

"I think Lupin likes me," I admit. "And I don't really like him. Not like _that _anyway. And he hates you because you broke up with him before his gig and-"

She blushes scarlet and I realize (a little too late) that I shouldn't have said as much as that.

"He told you about us?" she grimaces.

"Uh … yeah. Sorry," I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck.

She pulls on a pair of shorts, and I can't help but watch them slip over her long, pale legs. "Well, he does have every right to be mad about it. I was a bit of a bitch to him. He still deserves it, though."

"Why, what did he do that could be so bad that you dumped him right before a paid gig? Isn't that a little petty?"

A snort abruptly erupts from her throat and I quirk an eyebrow, expecting an explanation.

"He got me stoned before a family dinner without asking me first. I ate the entire chicken that was meant for dinner and told my mother that she should stop dying her hair and trying to act younger than she is," she deadpans.

I gape at her unattractively, twisting on the bed to stare at her face on.

"Are you _serious_?"

"Deadly. That's why I'm not allowed to have guys over anymore. Lupin ruined it by acting like such a dickwad. So if you want someone to blame for you having to stick your fingers in your ears and sit on my bedroom floor for hours, blame him."

"Jesus," I sigh. "I can't believe he did that. How did he get you stoned without you knowing, though?"

"He baked me brownies. I thought he was just being cute."

I can't help but laugh, "Oh, Princess, you really should've known."

She shrugs. "It's in the past, I guess. But I've never really liked him much, since. He was a real pain about the break-up. Why don't you want to date him?"

"I don't really know," I mummer, trying not to give anything away. "I just don't. And I don't want to ruin my friendship with him by bringing it up."

"You could always sit with me at lunch."

I squint at her and realize with shock that she's blushing at me, smiling sweetly. Shit.

"What?"

"It's just an offer. If you ever get bored of the stoners."

"… who else do you sit with?"

"My friend Ethel – she's the Korean cheerleader, Manny the quarterback, Finn and a bunch of other footballers and their girlfriends."

"Jesus, apart from you I'd have nothing to talk to the rest of them about."

"You could always just talk to me," she grins, and I feel myself reddening.

"Like we don't see enough of each other," I look away, embarrassed.

There's the same weird silence that I experienced in the car the night of our first lesson, and when I glance back at her she's staring at me curiously.

"What was the other thing?"

"What other thing?"

"You said you weren't okay because Lupin hates me. We got sidetracked."

I realize what she means and sigh, "Oh. Yeah. It's a pain, he can get a bit lippy when I talk about you and it's wearing me thin. I mean, besides the band, you're really the only other person I talk to at school."

"Apart from Mr Canis."

"Right. It's just annoying having to stop myself from talking about you just to please him."

She smirks at me, "What kind of stuff do you talk about?"

I clear my throat. Her flirty attitude has been keeping me on edge for weeks and I still can't get used to it. "Just how much of a pain you are."

A laugh bursts forth as she pouts dramatically and I find myself grinning despite my nerves.

"Shall I invite your friends to Finn's party on Friday? There'll be a buffet. Stoners love a good buffet."

"… I don't know if they'd go."

"They don't have to go. I just need to be pleasant to Lupin and maybe he'll forgive me for breaking up with him. It'll be like a peace offering."

I can't help but appreciate how accommodating she's being for me. "Alright, I'll ask them."

"Cool," she grins, bumping my shoulder. "So, Nandos?"

"Yeah, go on, then."

* * *

"Just come, Lupin!" Keila wails, "I want to wear the new dress I just bought, and I don't want to have to listen to you moaning for weeks about me and Bongo going without you."

Lupin swipes at his fringe angrily and stares hard at Bongo.

"And you want to go, too?" He snaps.

Bongo shrugs his shoulders and grins, "They've got a _buffet_, dude! We can much all night and we don't have to pay."

"And you?" He looks almost pleadingly at me. If I say I don't want to go, we wont.

"I haven't been to a party in four months. I want to get wasted and dance," I say with a half-shrug. I slip behind him and run my hands over his shoulders, "C'mon, it'll be fun."

Usually I wouldn't resort to this kind of flirty bollocks, but I desperately want him to like Bonnibel. It's honestly tiring hearing one person I like bitch about another person I like.

By the way that he leans into my touch I know I have him. "Oh, all right," he grimaces. "But if it sucks I'm leaving before ten."

* * *

When I arrive at the party, it's already in full swing. Finn's house isn't massive, but his furniture has been pushed to the corners of the living room to make a dance floor, and there are strobe light fixtures attached to two of the bookcases. Between these, the coloured lights bouncing across the walls provided by a mini disco ball hung from the ceiling and the pounding music coming from the speaker system set up throughout the house, it feels like a casual little club, right in the middle of suburbia.

I deliberately wore my hottest outfit, deciding that it would make a nice change from the casual way I dress at school. The black playsuit is lace across my arms and chest, with the bodice and shorts remaining opaque. Combined with my 7inch heels (had to wear them around the house this morning to regain the knack for walking in them) I'm well above the height of most of the girls here tonight. My incredibly long hair is loose for once (the standard ponytail forgotten) and it falls in thick curls to my hips. There's no denying that I look good tonight (for God's sake, I'm wearing _make up _and everything) but I can't help but be incredibly nervous. I know next to nobody, and I arrived alone. I decide that a drink is the best thing to calm my nerves.

Hurriedly I sidestep the dance floor and push past teenagers to get to the kitchen.

To my instant surprise I spot Bongo and Keila (though unsurprisingly, they're standing right by the buffet, plates piled high).

"Anything good?" I ask, stepping up beside them while grabbing a bottle of beer sitting on the table next to them.

A look of shock crosses both their faces and it takes them a second to recognize me.

"Holy _shit_, girl. You look _good_!" Keila exclaims, putting down her plate to physically spin me around so she can check me out from all angles. "Who knew you were _that _hot?"

"You look pretty good, yourself," I laugh, and it's true. She's wearing a forest green tank top with a short American Indian style skirt, covered with fringe and beads. Her ears are adorned with large feather earrings and she's got another feather in her beehive, in place of her usual 'fro comb.

"Well, I for one think I look hotter than you both," says Bongo as he finally tears his gaze from my ass.

"Dream on, dude. These two are the hottest girls here."

The voice startles me and I turn, delighted to see Lupin, freshly shaved and wearing a t-shirt with a shirt and tie print on the front.

"You came!" I yell and go for a high-five, which he returns enthusiastically.

"Of course. Couldn't miss an opportunity to see you and Keila in heels, could I?"

"Yeah, whatever, Lupe' you just came for the buffet."

"Also true."

I feel an odd sense of relief now that Lupin has arrived, and I settle back against the wall, draining my beer and opening a fresh one.

"Has anyone seen Finn?! There's a problem with one of the speakers upstairs …"

I turn to see Bonnibel trying to see over the sea of people in the kitchen, attempting to locate her boyfriend.

My mouth hangs unattractively open as I take in what she's wearing.

It's a dress, sure, but the neckline is low enough that I can see the girl's naval, and I'm pretty sure she isn't wearing underwear given how tautly the skirt is clinging to her skin. The only modest part of the dress is the sleeves, which cover her arms completely, though her shoulders are bare. Of course it's pink, but it's a deep, sultry pink. Nothing girlish about that outfit, no sir.

I hear Bongo wolf-whistle and make a remark about her stomach muscles but I'm too busy trying to get Bonnibel's attention.

"Yo, Bonnie! Over here!" I scream, waving my arms above my head. I realize the beer has gone to my head, but shrug. It's a party after all.

Her head whips towards me, a few strands of hair coming loose from her thick bun, and a big smile breaks out over her face. She pushes past people to get to me and I find myself grinning back at her.

"Wow, Marceline, you look …" she trails off and I blush happily as her gaze sweeps up my body, lingering in all the right places.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'bombastic'," Lupin offers helpfully, and Bonnibel and I turn to him.

"Hi," she says, and smiles. It's a small smile, but it looks genuine.

"Long time no fuck," he raises an eyebrow.

Sparks fly between the two of them and I have the sudden urge to run as fast as my heels will carry me away from this situation.

"I'm going to go for a fag," Keila abruptly announces and Bongo and I erupt into a chorus of, 'me too's.

* * *

We stand among the couples in the garden, sharing a joint between the three of us.

"That was some heavy stuff, back there," Bongo complains, pulling at his shirt collar. He looks incredibly cute and ironic in his shirt and bow-tie. His hair has grown in since I first met him, and a dark mop of curls flops as he moves.

"Tell me about it," I groan, taking a deep drag on the spliff before passing it to my left.

"Why did you even call her over?" Keila asks, accepting the joint.

"She's my friend. Anyway, I thought you _liked _her."

"I do, but that was asking for trouble, bringing her over while Lupin was right there."

I sigh, "You're right. I should apologise to him."

* * *

It's twice as busy when I go back into the house as it was when I first arrived. People are spilling out of the front and back door, and as far as I can tell, there are couples making out all the way up the stairs and upstairs too.

Even despite my added height with my heels, I can't seem to find Lupin. I do spot Finn, though, beer in hand, talking to a chick with fiery red hair.

"Hey, Finn!" I yell over the din. "You seen Lupin?"

"WHO?" He yells back.

"LUPIN!"

"NO, I SAW BONNIBEL TALKING TO HIM, ASK HER!"

I stick my thumbs up in reply and grab another beer to ease my throat after screaming so loud.

My beer's finished and I'm halfway through my fourth when I spot her, dancing with an Asian girl. Must be that Ethel girl she was telling me about.

Sticking my bottle on one of the bookshelves I sidle up to her while she's dancing, "YOU SEEN LUPIN?" I scream, half-dancing, half-shuffling amidst all the people around me.

"HE WENT TO THE BATHROOM!" She yells back and I nod, fully about to turn and make my way to the toilet when her hand on my waist stops me.

"DANCE WITH ME," she grins slackly at me, and I wonder how much she's had to drink.

I stay, though, intrigued as she slips her arms around my waist, pulling me closer to her. The music fades from a remix of "Starships" to something I'm unfamiliar with. It's not even really got much of a tune, just an intoxicating bass-line underneath a deep rhythmic series of pulses. The movement of the crowd suddenly shifts from the excited jumping which usually accompanies Niki Minaj to something decidedly more sensuous. My arms automatically go over my head and I groan as Bonnibel grinds against me in time to the music.

My eyes were shut, taking in the feeling of being pressed so close to me, feeling her hot breath on my neck and chest as she drops and grinds her way up my thigh to a standing position. They flicker open, however when I feel a familiar hardness pressed against my ass. I glance behind me as a pair of large hands pull my hair to the side, cupping my jaw, and spot the printed shirt and tie of Lupin's t-shirt right in front of me. I squeak in surprise but am stopped but a finger pressed to my lips.

It's Bonnibel. Pretty and plastered and so obviously far-gone that she's lost her mind. I watch as she grins at Lupin behind me, then slips one of her thighs between mine, using the fact that Lupin – so strong and sturdy – is right behind me to keep me upright. Had she pulled that when it was just the two of us I would have fallen on my butt. Instead, I'm ground into Lupin's pelvis and I feel more than hear him groan.

I can't tell you how long it all lasts. Lupin's groans rumbling against my back and Bonnibel's distinctively sweet breath in my ear. But I _can _tell you that it feels _incredibly _good. And in my sorry, stoned state I do something very stupid.

When she grinds close to me, I surge forward and press my lips against Bonnibel's, hard. She barely hesitates before her mouth opens and my tongue meets hers, hot and fast.

It's over almost as quickly as it began, and I watch her green-blue eyes as we part. They're almost black with desire.

I feel Lupin's hands on my hips, turning me and I ease willingly around, stunned by the sheer novelty of the kiss. Electric doesn't even begin to describe it.

The song changes again, and suddenly the two of us are jumping to "Your Love Is My Drug" complete with mimes for different drugs each time Ke$ha sings the word. The atmosphere sucks me in completely and I forget about Bonnibel until I scream at Lupin that I need to pee. He waves me off, turning to dance with Keila who's chatting to a huge guy in a Letterman jacket.

* * *

I'm wiping my hands dry on my playsuit when I spot her, standing at the front door with her jacket on and her phone out.

"You leaving?" I ask, unembarrassed due to the alcohol or drugs (or both) in my system. I don't feel awkward about the kiss or the grinding at all.

She nods, swaying slightly, "Finn's coming back to mine after the party."

"Oh," I can't help but feel disappointed, though I can't say that I was glad that she wasn't acting weird with me.

"You're coming, too, right?" She looks confused as to why I look disappointed. She grins, "I need my cover. Plus, the party's going to go on for hours yet. You can just crash at mine, you'll be asleep by the time he gets there so you wont hear a thing."

I can't force myself to look pleased at the prospect of getting to be there – yet again – while she fucks Finn. But she looks so happy with herself that I shrug, "Fine. Just let me grab some more beer."

After returning to the kitchen and grabbing a fresh six-pack I join her outside, where a taxi is waiting for us.

"Twenty-seven, Dud Lane, please," she slurs to the taxi-guy and we set off, me drinking one of the six new cans, her with her head lolling against the cab window.

* * *

"Where _is _he?" she groans, glancing at the clock on her wall which reads (in pink flashing numbers) that it's half two in the morning. "He should have been back here an hour ago. He said he was throwing people out at one so we could come back to mine."

"Why didn't you just stay at his until everyone left, then fuck him at his place?" I ask, lying beside her on her bed, the room spinning slowly around me.

She flops down beside me and stares at me hazily, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I hate mess. There's going to be spilled booze and vomit all over his house. I wouldn't be able to concentrate with that stuff."

I'm too drunk to reply, so I nod instead. She insisted that I wear her pyjamas instead of sleeping in my playsuit, so I'm kitted out in a baby pink t-shirt and matching polka dot shorts. It's safe to say that I look like a deflated marshmallow. She changed into black lace underwear when we got home, freshening up for her boyfriend. I'm pretty sure she caught me leering at her suspenders as she wobbled from the bathroom.

"You okay?"

I grunt the affirmative and glance at her. She's not smiling at me, instead studying my features intently, propped up on her elbow.

"What?" I slur.

With a deliberate slowness she shuffles toward me, bracing herself on one arm while she hovers above my torso. I watch her with fascination as she leans down toward me, my lips inches from hers.

"I wanted to kiss you before tonight," she admits quietly. But I don't have the chance to reply. She presses her lips to mine slowly, and suddenly her tongue is twined with mine, eliciting a moan from me with a deliciously strong stroke.

* * *

**Sexy cliffhanger! Arghhhh!**

**Well. That's the end of the T. Wave, 'buh-bye'.**

**Now tell me.**

**Who is Ethel?**

**And the Quarterback?**

**And which (awesome) band inspired the chapter name?  
**

**And will someone please explain the American school system to me? Complete with what you call each year group (from Kindergarten right up) to what age you would be in which year?**

**Cheers in advance!**

**R&R, you know you want to ;)**


	7. Lipstick Hangovers

**Sorry for the wait. I'm a student and exams are looming, so uploads are going to continue to be slow.**

**Farewell, T, hello M!**

**Fair warning, I don't pull punches with sex scenes, so those of you with a week disposition should probably shut off your laptops and go to your kitchen for a nice cup of tea 'round about now.**

**To those of you who reviewed, I can't tell you how sadly happy I am when I hear that people like my ramblings, so thank you all!**

**To those of you who guessed correctly, Ethel is indeed Lady Rainicorn, well done!**

**Since no one guessed correctly about the quarterback, however, I'll give you a little more info about him later ;)**

**Thatkid got it in one! It _is _the Black Kids album. I have a new found love for you, being the only one who got it.**

**Oh, and to those of you who explained the American school system to me, thank you _so _much. I'm actually Scottish, so I was kind of struggling with it :/**

**Anyway. On with it!**

* * *

Chapter 6: Lipstick Hangovers

I sit up to get closer to her as we kiss (however sluggishly, as the alcohol has yet to leave my body) and cup her jaw in my hands, giving into my desire for her completely. The elated euphoria seeping through my limbs as she moans into my mouth are completely new to me, and I feel her lift her thigh over mine so she is effectively straddling my hips.

Eventually we both have to come up for air, and when we break apart I find myself panting, our foreheads pressed together.

"How long?" I gasp, reeling.

Her lips replace her forehead against mine, and I shudder as she dusts the bridge of my nose with light kisses. "Since you turned up at my house reeking of smoke and calling me a prude."

I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of that particular notion, though she silences me with slow, bubbling kisses against my lips, which leave me breathless. "Why then?" I husk against her lips, brows knotted.

"You came back to me and your pride came second. I admired you for that."

I'm a little too drunk to understand fully, so I opt for a brief nod.

Then suddenly her face is pressed against the side of my neck, her lips and teeth and tongue grazing my hairline. I'm aware that my hands are on her back, and that hers are on my stomach. I let out a shuddering breath as she bites on my earlobe.

I'm not a virgin. Far from it. And from the way she's teasing the shell of my ear with her tongue, I can tell she's had a fair amount of experience herself. But _this _is new to me. She feels weirdly feminine in my arms, compared to the boys who make up my previous sexual encounters. Her shoulders and waist are sleek and slim, rather than broad and hulking, and I find it strange how turned on I am by this. Though she's taking the dominant role right now, it's still all so gentle.

A startled yelp bursts from my mouth as she nips on the join between my neck and shoulder – hard. So much for 'all so gentle', I guess. I immediately forgive her, though, hissing as she licks the spot she just bit, her tongue soft and warm and wet.

I realize that she's tugging at the hem of my t-shirt, and I drunkenly comply to her unspoken plead, raising my arms so she can slip the garment over my head.

Despite the fact that I'm still half-cut and she's in much more sensuous attire than I am, I find myself blushing, covering my bare breasts as she tosses my t-shirt to the side.

"C'mon, baby," I can feel her smirk against my ear as she whispers, her fingers attempting to pry my wrists away from my chest.

When I feel her tongue in my ear, I lose all sense of hesitation and my arms go limp, enabling her to surge forward, pinning me to the bed with my arms above my head, wrists crossed and held in one of her hands.

Her gaze moves down my body and I can feel the weight of her stare on my breasts and stomach. The hand that is not pinning me down trails its fingers across the path her gaze previously made and I shudder at the sensation of her touching me so gently. Her thumb grazes one of my nipples and I buck, eliciting a laugh from Bonnibel.

"Eager," she comments and I growl at her.

She laughs again then releases my hands, dipping down to press another of those dangerously slow kisses to my lips. Eventually when I'm out of breath and gasping, she trails her lips down my jaw, neck and chest gently pressing little kisses to my breasts. My hands fly into her hair when her lips lock around a nipple and her tongue snakes out.

I make a choked noise and buck against her, unsure whether to moan or laugh as she tickles my sides with her feather-soft caresses. Then suddenly I feel her lift her weight from me, and shudder as her hand slips up the inside of my thigh.

"B-Bonnie," I squirm as her fingers brush aside the gusset of the polka-dot shorts, dragging up the length of my entrance.

She murmurs a reply, my nipple between her teeth, and I cry out as her fingers lance into me, so sure and direct.

Whether it's the booze or the fact that I'm physically and mentally exhausted, I come incredibly fast. All she really has to do is curl her fingers once, twice and on the third time palm the bundle of nerves above my entrance. So very little effort and I am a writhing mess beneath her. It's just as everything is starting to go black, and I feel her kissing me sweetly on the mouth that I wonder whether it's because it was _her _fingers inside of me that I came so quickly.

* * *

The first thing I realize is that it is day, and I am not in my own bedroom.

The second is that I have a wicked hangover and a desperate need for some aspirin.

The third is that I am half naked, and that my tutor is sprawled next to me wearing black lingerie. _What the fuck?_

I groan loudly and attempt to sit up, shielding my eyes from what appears to be the afternoon sun streaming in Bonnibel's window. Covering my breasts with one arm, after being unable to locate my pyjama top, I shake Bonnibel's shoulder roughly.

"Yo, Princess. Rise and get the fuck up."

"Nmmmf, ah din wnnnmf."

"What?"

I watch as she raises herself from the pillow slightly, enough to make her words clear.

"Nooo, I don't wanna."

"Get up, Bonnibel, or I'm going to puke on your carpet."

"I'm up, I'm up," she yawns; sitting up slowly and stretching like a cat. I watch the vertebrae pop in her spine one by one and blush.

"What happened last night?" I ask, still attempting to cover myself.

She glances at me and half grins, looking really quite smug, "We had sex. Well. Actually, I got you off, then you passed out before you could return the favour."

The memories come flooding back to me and suddenly I realize that Bonnibel Burrier is _insane_. Not for having sex with me, or for being so smart it's scary, but just for being so damn calm about _everything_ all the time.

"… What are we supposed to do, now?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to shower and then make waffles. You should probably get ready for our math lesson. We're going over quadratic functions today. You're good at those."

"Stop being so calm!"

Standing with noticeably wobbly legs, she sighs, "Look, Marceline, what happened, happened. It was fun. It doesn't have to mean anything."

I feel like she's punched me in the stomach. It didn't mean anything to her. Not a damn thing. I was just a warm body while Finn was absent. It's only when I realize how much that really hurt that it dawns on me just how much I like her. Perfect. But I don't want her to feel guilty or know that my heart feels like she's just squeezed it until it popped, so I feign relief.

"Fine. Just shout on me when you're out of the shower. I need one too."

She glances back at me with an odd expression on her face and tosses the pink t-shirt I had been previously wearing the night before which had been discarded on the floor.

"Fine."

* * *

**Okay, this chapter's an odd one. It's basically the turning point in their relationship and a cause for lots of problems to come. I know there are probably a few of you unhappy with the way this chapter ended, but I'm planning on making this story a lengthy one.**

**R&R, tell me if you love it, hate it, or are indifferent.**


	8. Popular

**Greetings, Bubbeline shippers!**

**How are you all this fine night? (Well, it's night in Scotland, anyway.) Shall I tell you how I am? Oh, alright, since you asked so nicely I'll spill.**

**I've got an exam on Thursday and I'm dreading it. So everyone send out some good thoughts and pray that I pass the damn thing.**

**Thanks for reviews and favourites and all that, I appreciate it very much.**

**I own bugger all, I don't even own the laptop I'm writing this on today.**

* * *

Chapter 7: Popular

Bonnibel is giving me a headache, and let me tell you, it's got nothing to do with the quadratic equations. Surprisingly enough, I _am _good at those.

I'm having one of those horrible 'day after the night before' days. Hung-over, depressed and exhausted, I'm flopped on Bonnibel's carpet while she goes over the finer points of determining _x_'s value. I desperately want to talk to her about last night. It's all very confusing. I run over what I know in my head, trying to sort it out mentally.

Bonnie and I had sex. Sort of.

She said it didn't matter.

It matters to me.

I don't want her to know that.

I was just a warm body for her last night. Something hot to cling to while her boyfriend was absent. Even the long shower didn't make me feel any cleaner after learning that. If anything, the scalding water mixed with my tears just made me feel more damaged and used. The maths isn't helping my mood either.

"Do you want to call it a day, Marceline?" Bonnibel asks me gently, looking up from the textbook open on her lap.

"Yes, please."

She stares at me and I don't bother lifting my gaze from my knees.

"Are you okay? You look even paler than usual."

"I'm just tired."

The atmosphere has been unbelievably strained this afternoon. Between me barely speaking, and the fact that Finn hasn't been answering his phone, Bonnibel is becoming increasingly highly strung. This has lead to her voice steadily rising in pitch and volume. Last time I got a question wrong I'm pretty sure dogs all over the street were cowering in fear at the din she made.

Though I've decided to keep my silence for the time being, I'm finding it difficult to stick on a brave face. It wouldn't be half as bad if Bonnie had just let me go home, but she made me stay for our Sunday lesson despite the fact that we both puked in her little porcelain sink this morning. She even made me borrow her clothes, because apparently it's impossible to tutor someone wearing a lace playsuit that reeks of beer. So I'm kitted out in a pair of jeans that had to be rolled up because they were too short in length and a pink t-shirt that drowns me across the bust.

"Are you sure you're okay? Would you even tell me if you weren't?"

I sigh and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. I have no make-up on once more, and despite everything I'm briefly glad that my skin is free of the stuff.

"I think I'm just going to go home, now," I say, attempting to sound less depressed and more like my usual self. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, though."

Bonnie looks drained. Her hair is down fully for the first time since I've met her, and I notice how dishevelled she appears, with her smudged, second day eyeliner traces and uncharacteristically baggy clothes. She nods, closing the textbook with a sharp smack. I jump.

"Fine. See you at school."

* * *

"How was the party, Marcie-kins? Are those your clothes?" My dad is watching the news on the couch when I come home. I dump my playsuit in the washing basket and join him, curling in a ball at his left side.

"Are you okay?"

"No, not really."

His arms snake around me, and I feel my throat clench with emotion. It's all been a bit too much, the past few months. Going from my home to this new area, leaving my friends and country behind, having to restart. And now all this drama. The kind I avoided so easily back home by never becoming too attached to anyone.

"Would you like to talk about it?" He asks gently, the news buzzing softly in the background.

I take a deep breath and nuzzle closer to him. "You know Bonnibel, that girl who comes over to tutor me for maths?"

He nods.

"I think I love her."

There's a silence that I'm aware lasts quite a bit longer than silences within conversations usually do. I don't even know why I'm telling him. I guess I just need someone to talk to. Someone completely removed from the drama itself.

"Are you just upset because you love her, or has something else happened?"

I'm slightly taken aback by this. I sort of expected him to scream or shout or demand an explanation. Not that he's ever shown signs of homophobia before, but I just thought he'd be that way.

"Both, I suppose."

"Well, for starters, it doesn't matter who you love. If they make you happy and vice versa, then there's really no problem at all. So if you're beating yourself up because you're gay, don't bother. It's a waste of time and I'd hate to see you go through that."

I can't actually form a reply. Just a muffled sort of grunt from somewhere inside his flannel shirt where I'm hiding.

"What's happened that's upset you, now that that's out of the way?"

"… we had sex and she acted like it didn't mean anything."

"I see."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you being so calm about this?"

He sighs, pulling me out from under his arm so I'm forced to look at him.

"You know how we never talk about your mum?"

I nod.

"Well, it isn't because I don't want to talk about her, or avoid talking about her. You've never asked, and nothing's ever come up to steer us into that particular topic."

I'm confused, but nod again, wondering where he's going with this.

"I met her when I was out drinking with my friends. The only bar we got served in was a gay-bar in town, so we met a lot of people who were … fluid, in their sexuality, shall we say. Your mother was among one of them. We had a short fling, which ended almost as soon as it begun. And then she realized she was pregnant, with you." He smiles at me as I stare at him. "She was in a relationship with a woman she said she loved, and was dumped when her girlfriend realized she'd been cheated on. But I stuck with her as a friend while she was pregnant, and when she finally gave birth, we agreed that I'd look after you, and she'd try to convince her girlfriend to come back to her."

The new found respect I have for my father almost cancels out the years I've spent loathing him for basically being dead to my feelings. Almost. The fact that he agreed to be burdened with me so that my mother could chase after her love is oddly chivalrous.

"Your mother made a mistake, sleeping with me. We were younger and stupid. But from the letter she sent me after your second birthday, she got her girlfriend back, and I got you. We decided it was a fair trade." He smiles at me and I realize I'm crying a little.

"Your mother was proud of who she was, and it didn't stop her from living her life. She was a wonderful woman. And you are too, Marcie-kins."

"I don't know if I'm gay or not," I breathe, unable to really process all the information at once.

"The point is, it doesn't matter. You are who you are. End of story. This Bonnibel girl, does she know that last night meant something to you?"

"No. I don't want her to."

"Why not?"

I grunt, struggling to understand how he can go from being so understanding to completely dense in seconds. "Because that makes me seem weak and needy."

"Having feelings doesn't make you weak, dear."

"It's been a really long day, dad. I don't know if I can take any more of this, to be honest."

"Do you want some beans on toast?"

"Yes, please."

* * *

I slip out from under my dad's arm at half past eleven, yawning and determined to get some sleep before school tomorrow. I stroke his arm, waking him up as gently as I can.

"Daddy, it's late. Go to bed."

He grunts and slowly lifts himself to his feet, mumbling a 'good night' between yawns, and patting me on the head.

After slipping into my bedroom, I realize that I haven't checked my phone since I came home, after leaving it behind before the party. Back in Blythe I was always losing phones at parties, so I stopped taking it with me.

I press the lock button and gape at my screen.

_(4) Messages from Keila_

_(1) Message from Bongo_

(1) Message from Dad

_(7) Messages from Lupin_

_(3) Missed calls from Lupin_

_(2) Missed calls from Finn_

_(1) Message from Finn_

_(8) Missed calls from Princess_

_(14) Messages from Princess_

_(3) New Voicemails_

I blink rapidly, trying to figure out what the hell's been happening. Unlocking my phone I realize that the texts from Bongo and Keila came in before the party. That the one from my Dad was simply wishing me a good night out. It's the others that worry me.

Lupin's consist of drunken rambling about how much he loves me. Though, I happily note that one reads '_your myy bedt frend in thhe wurldd!'_ so it's pretty obvious that it was 'happy' drunk texting other than 'lonely, desperate' drunk texting. One little part of the last one disturbs me, however. I stare at the screen and reread it several times over. '_Nd thtt kiss was sooo hot!' _That kiss. _That _kiss. The one that happened while Bonnibel was rubbing up against me.

I quickly look at Finn's message, noting that it came in an hour ago.

'_Thanks for coming, hope you had a good night last night! Btw, I heard about the big kiss between you and Bonnie! You should definitely come to my next party, all the guys were going on about what a wildcat you are!' _

Dread drops to the pit of my stomach as though I had just swallowed a brick. The kiss was seen by more than just Lupin, then.

I steal myself and switch to the messages I'd been most dreading.

Two of them came before the party last night, asking about my outfit.

The rest came in today.

'_Get home okay?'_

'_Has Finn texted you?'_

'_Are you sure everything's alright?'_

'_Are you deliberately not answering your phone? Are you mad or something?'_

'_We can talk tomorrow.'_

'_You left your heels at my house btw. I'll bring them to school tomorrow.' _

I sigh. Everything's becoming a bit too complicated for my liking.

* * *

My alarm is hooked up to my radio, and I'm awoken by Hall & Oates. The surprisingly upbeat music does something to lift my spirit. I've decided to ignore what I'm feeling for Bonnibel and try to find myself for now. Do a bit of soul searching and figure out what it is that I actually want. If I like all girls or just her. Either way, I decide that time will tell, and that comforts me. I find myself smiling as I get ready, preparing to face the consequences of the kiss on Saturday and the hook-up that followed it.

It turns out that my chirpy mood doesn't hold up long. By second period, I'm already seething and desperate for a cigarette.

For three months I was avoided at Adventure High. People seemed distrustful and wary of me. I was an unknown with a scary disposition. No one wanted to come near me, even if they were curious enough to gossip about me. Now, after one party and one kiss, _everyone _knows who I am. I'm the girl who locked lips with the school's hot genius. They think I'm _cool_. How fucking stupid _are _these people? I'm suddenly getting smothered with attention.

I turned up to school early, thinking I could catch Bonnibel before class so I could convince her that I was fine, that Saturday night was a one-off, and she didn't need to worry. I was bombarded by a load of sophomore's who'd snuck into Finn's party and saw what had happened with Bonnie. They blatantly told me it was the hottest thing they'd ever seen and then scurried off, giggling away like a bunch of basket cases.

I have had knowing looks, little appreciative comments and raised eyebrows from practically everyone all morning. The attention is freaking me out.

As the bell rings to signal the end of class, Mr Canis waves me over.

"Yes, sir?" I ask, attempting to leave before he can actually speak.

"I saw you this morning," he says with a great big smile.

"Yeah?"

"You've made quite a few friends, haven't you?"

I groan, suddenly his big grin looks very smug and I realize that he thinks that I've become popular because of Bonnie's influence. Which I actually have. Just not in the way he's thinking.

"Okay, you were right. I made friends. Can I go, now?"

"Yes, of course. I just wanted to hear that."

* * *

"Hey, Marceline. Have fun at the party on Saturday?" Keila is grinning at me wickedly at lunch, Bongo and Lupin sniggering into their tacos.

"Not you guys, too."

"Hey, it's not very often you get gossip as good as this here," she shrugs, fluffing up her hair.

"What, girls don't kiss other girls here?"

"Of course they do. But _Bonnibel _doesn't kiss other girls. Christ, her and Finn have been going steady since Middle School. She's like the Mother Teresa of Adventure'."

"_Bonnibel_?"

I can't help but be shocked. Sure, she seems wholesome enough on the surface, but between her encounters with Finn, her flirty behaviour, her previous relationship with Lupin, her willingness to drink half the beer in my fridge, I just assumed she was openly more badass than she might appear at first.

"Duh."

Apparently not.

"Yeah, well, everyone else has been bugging me about it all day, so can we talk about something else?"

She squints at me, "No need to snap."

"Sorry. Rough day."

From across the canteen I spot Bonnibel, sitting between Ethel and a Hispanic guy in a letterman jacket. Finn sees me looking and half waves, drawing the attention of the rest of the table. Everyone except Bonnibel turns to look over at me, and I feel myself turning scarlet.

"I'm not hungry, actually." I say, and practically leap from the table, leaving Lupin, Keila and Bongo looking confused.

* * *

Bonnie's pink car is waiting for me when my last class ends, and I'm walking out the front door. I steal myself and hop into the little vehicle with a (slightly strained), "Christ, it's hot today."

"Yeah," she agrees dully and we pull out from the parking lot.

"What, no Finn today?" I ask nervously.

She shakes her head, "Practice is cancelled. The pitch has moles. They're reseeding the grass today."

"Oh."

There an awkward silence that goes on for so long that I actually feel myself starting to listen to my heart beat, which gradually speeds up the more I concentrate on it. I'm about to break it when she says, "I think there are a few things we need to clear up, Marceline."

"Ok."

The car pulls up outside my house, but when I realize she isn't making any move to get out, I stay in my seat, waiting to hear what she has to say.

"My reputation means a lot to me. Teachers like me, the younger students look up to me, the other seniors respect me. I've worked really, really hard to keep it that way and this is my last year, I don't want it ruined."

"Are you trying to say I'm ruining your reputation?"

"No. I'm trying to explain how I'm feeling. No one's ever rivaled my popularity. Not my friends or any of the other students at Adventure. Suddenly, one kiss and you're all everyone's talking about."

I look over and realize that she's blushing and she looks half embarrassed, half livid.

"You're jealous," I gape.

"Yes. I'm jealous."

It's all just too weird. I burst out laughing.

"It's _not _funny."

I can't even argue with her, tears streaming down my face as I guffaw. When it passes (after a minute or two), I wipe my eyes, grinning at her.

"Why are you being so serious?"

"Because I don't like playing second fiddle to anyone. I thought that people would have stopped being curious by the time I started tutoring you. A month passed and no one said anything, so I thought nothing would change. Now they've seen what you're like when you aren't glowering and they like you. The fact that we kissed just proved that you're a rebel, and a bad influence on the one person they saw as immoveable in terms of good behaviour."

I scoff at that.

"Why does everyone think you're such a goody-goody? Surely by now they've worked out that you're just as much of a ho as me, who drinks and dated a stoner."

"I only act that way around you and Finn!"

"What? Why?"

"Because it's a façade! You're the only people I trust not to say anything."

I'd be flattered, but though I'm blushing happily I'm confused.

"What about Lupin? You dated him, you're parent's caught you with him. Doesn't he knows what you're like?"

"Not exactly. My thing with Lupin wasn't really dating, as such. I was dating Finn while it was going on."

I raise an eyebrow and she blushes, "I wanted to try weed. He was charming, it just sort of happened. I told him I wouldn't let my dad hunt him down with a shotgun if he promised not to tell anybody I'd cheated on Finn. Or smoked weed. He kept his promise, and everything was fine. I'm pretty sure his friends know the extent of our relationship after the brownie incident, but so far they haven't said anything either. Who'd listen to stoners anyway?"

"So why do you trust me? You can't blackmail me, or bribe me. I could tell everyone your dirty little secrets. Not that I would," I add, raising my hands. "But just out of curiosity, why me?"

"You keep to yourself. You don't talk a lot. Plus, you needed a tutor and I needed a cover. Whoever's willing to keep quiet about something like that deserves my respect."

Blushing, I grin and nod.

"And I'm sorry about Saturday night," she adds and I have to remind myself to appear calm. "I didn't mean to freak you out like that."

"No worries, I'm over it," I shrug, feigning insouciance.

An odd look flashes across her face, but it's quickly replaced by relief.

"That's why I like you. You're so easy to talk to."

I shrug, attempting to hide the fact that I'm half elated at her compliments, half heartbroken because I really am in love with her, and that means so much more mess for me.

"So, what was with the big 'jealousy' rant, anyway? You got sidetracked."

"Oh, yeah. I noticed how uncomfortable you looked getting all that attention. I want you to be rude to the people who come up to you, because I don't want to have to compete with you."

It sounds like an incredibly selfish request, but I really do hate all the attention, so I nod.

"Oh, believe me, rude I can do."

"Excellent. Now, make me dinner. I'm starving."

"Fuck off, I can't be bothered cooking. Phone a pizza."

* * *

**So, this one was mainly conversation-based, as you could probably tell. It's just something I'm trying out.**

**I'm working with a format now, for this story. I post a short chapter, then a long one. Or at least, that seems to be the way that the chapters have been working. If this continues, the next one will probably be a little shorter.**

**Tell me your thoughts, R&R.**


	9. Pride before the fall

**Okay, double update! I should be studying but I can't be bothered. Thanks for the reviews, guys!**

**All right, fair warning: You're probably not going to like Marceline much in this chapter.**

**I own nothing, leave me alone.**

* * *

Chapter 8: Pride before the fall

My hips sway in time to the music, beads of sweat rolling down my spine, between the valley of my breasts. It's over forty degrees Celsius today. The hottest it ever got back home was about twenty. I'm kitted out in denim shorts and a white tank top, but I'm still roasting.

We were supposed to have band practice at my house this morning. But it turned out that the four of us were too warm to do any serious rocking out, so we got thoroughly stoned instead. Now Lupin and Bongo are watching Keila and I dance.

I put on 'Feed Me Diamonds' and hooked it up to my stereo, blasting out the hypnotic techno-beat through my speakers. Before I knew what was happening, Keila had pulled me to my feet, and her hands were in my hair.

It's been a month since Finn's first party, and two months since Bonnie started tutoring me.

Bonnie's request for me to shun everyone who attempted to speak to me after that party turned against her. I'm more popular than ever. Everyone knows Marceline Abadeer, rocker-chick extraordinaire. Bonnie's not too happy about that. But there's nothing I can do. When I ignored people or when I was rude to them, they just worshipped me behind my back. She tried to get me to publicly humiliate myself to stop the attention, but I drew the line there.

Things have been a little strained between Bonnie and I because of that.

My score in maths is ever-increasing, though, thanks to her. She has so much more free time to tutor me now that her and Finn have broken up. Apparently he was cheating on her with some chick on the cheer squad (how clichéd, I know) called Jenny. It turns out it was the same girl I saw him talking to the night of his party. The one with the firey red hair. She found out that while she'd been waiting for him to turn up at her house that night, he'd been fucking his other little Princess on his beer-stained couch. It was quite funny really, hearing her scream about how wrong it is to cheat on someone you love in the canteen. Kind of hypocritical of her if you take into account the fact that while Finn was doing Jenny, she was doing _me. _Needless to say, Bonnie's been a bit of a mess, ever since they broke up.

I've not had much time for her outside our study sessions, though. What with my new-found fame and all. I've been at parties every single weekend throughout the past month. The band is improving thanks to my addition, too. Our rehearsals have increased to three times a week. We even have a new name: Marceline and the Scream Queens. Pretty dope, huh? We're going to start gigging soon, at parties and stuff. Earn some extra cash.

If truth be told, I'm pretty much over Bonnie – not that I was ever really into her to begin with. Yeah, she was my first girl, but I guess it was just the booze or hormones or something that made me think I _loved _her. I mean, _come on_. It's _Bonnie._ We're not exactly _simpatico _half of the time.

Over the past month I've realized that girls are _hot_. And I'm more than just a little bent. Almost every party has included one or more bi-curious encounter with cute freshmen girls or hot seniors who quite clearly were more experienced with the same sex than me. Bonnie just opened my eyes to a world of fluidity.

Me and Keila hooked up a week ago. It was different to what happened with Bonnie in almost every way. For starters, I was on top. It was supposed to be a one time thing – just a way to let off steam for both of us. But it turns out a friends-with-benefits relationship appeals to both of us, so we've decided that should the mood come over one of us, we can get together for a session or two. Or six.

And now her tongue is following a drip of sweat down the side of my neck as she holds my hair up.

I groan, my arms raised above my head as we dance.

"Jesus, you two, talk about inappropriate," Lupin gapes, to Bongo's chagrin.

"Shut up, Lupe'. I wanna see this."

Keila pulls back from me; enough to smirk at me, making me melt. She's dressed much less skimpily than me – apparently more used to the heat - but her midriff is showing, and I can see the beautifully feminine stomach muscles which adorn her naval.

"Marceline looks like she's going to come," Keila laughs, pulling me out of my revere.

"Shut it, you," I growl, and bring her close again, breathing in the smell of her coffee-coloured skin.

* * *

It's almost midnight when they leave, and I'm perched on my roof, cigarette in hand, a bottle of water placed neatly beside me along with my phone.

I look down as it buzzes softly, indicating that I have an incoming phone call.

Princess Calling …

I hit the answer button, flicking the butt of my cigarette away as I grunt, "'Sup, Princess?"

"_I told you to stop calling me that_," a tired voice states.

"Force of habit. What's up?"

"_Is it still okay for me to come round tomorrow_?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

"_Because you missed your lesson on Thursday_."

Shit.

"_Where were you, anyway_?"

I was hooking up with Keila, but I really don't want to tell her that. "I forgot, sorry."

"_That's just great. Thanks so much, Marceline_."

I bristle at her tone. "I've been busy, lately, I just forgot."

"_Fine. I'll see you tomorrow_."

I look down at my phone as the other side cuts off.

* * *

It's closer to fifty the next day, and I'm eating a Popsicle in the kitchen when I hear a soft knock on my front door.

"Marcie, can you get that?" I hear my dad yell from his room. He's been working around the clock lately, and I feel like I haven't seen him for about a month. Which I guess is true, seeing as we haven't really spoken since he told me about my mother.

"Yeah, dad!"

Bonnie's standing at my door when I open it, holding a stack of textbooks and wearing a short frilly skirt and blouse. She dresses like an eight year old sometimes. It's so weird.

"You coming in or are you just going to stand there, sweating your ass off?"

"You said 'ass' like an American. You used to say arse."

I frown at her, wondering why she won't come in.

"Are you going to criticise my accent or are you going to come the fuck in?"

"I don't think I will, actually."

My eyebrows pole vault into my hairline. "What?"

She thrusts the textbooks into my arms. "Here," she sniffs. "I don't want to be your tutor anymore. Do it yourself."

"_What_? Wait-Bonnibel!" I awkwardly attempt to shuffle the books into the crook of one arm while I grab her wrist with my free hand as she tries to flee.

"Let go, Marceline!"

"_No._" I growl menacingly, she's pissed me off, now. I tug at her wrist as she writhes for a moment, then suddenly stops.

She's breathing heavily and with a start I realise that she's crying. Her arm goes floppy in my grip and she presses her free hand to her face. I hear her make a small noise which sounds suspiciously like a sob.

My neighbour (stupid, baldy witch that she is) is being a nosy bitch, leaning over her wooden fence to see what's going on.

"Bugger off, Mrs Spruce!" I yell, pulling a now fully-blown sobbing Bonnibel into my hall.

I slam the door shut, textbooks falling to the floor, just as she throws herself at me. My arms automatically go around her in a hug, and though I'm completely confused, I don't say anything other than, "it's okay, calm down, baby" a few times.

* * *

The two of us are sitting at my breakfast bar, in the same positions we'd been in the night of my very first lesson. Bonnie's finally stopped crying, and we're both having iced tea, neither of us speaking.

"So," I start, awkwardly playing with the ice cubes in my glass. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

I half expected her to burst into tears again, but she sighs instead, draining her glass.

"I got a call from Ethel this morning. Her and Manny went out with Finn and Jenny last night."

"I see."

"I'm just so sick of everything just now," she moans, putting her face into her hands. "I'm sick of everyone saying how nice Jenny is, and how Finn must have been so bored dating a geek like me, and how _cool _you are. It's just so _fucking _irritating."

I attempt not to snigger at her use of profanity. It's the first time I've heard her swear.

"You know that this is your fault, though, right?"

She glances at me and I almost recoil from her glare.

"Well, it is. You pretended to be all sweet and wholesome so everyone would like you, and the only people who know the truth about you, you kind of backstabbed."

An impossibly bright blush seeps across her skin. "Who did I _backstab_?!"

"Me, Finn, Lupin."

"_How?!_"

"Well, you basically blackmailed Lupin with the threat of your father's shotgun. Cheated on Finn with Lupin, then _me_. And then after _you _made me popular and couldn't handle it, you tried to make me act like a fool so that you could have the attention back."

She stares at me, open-mouthed and I can't bring myself to sympathise with her. She's been acting like a dick for a month, and she needs to cut it out.

"If you liked Finn so much, why did you cheat on him?"

"Th-the first time wasn't supposed to happen, and when it was you … I just, I was lonely and we'd kissed and I thought you wanted me."

"You can't keep mourning over him, Bonnie. He moved on."

There's another silence as she processes what I've said, and I pour us another glass of tea while she mulls things over.

"I'm sorry I said I didn't want to tutor you anymore."

"That's okay."

"Do you want to go over the algebra chapter?"

"Not really, no."

"You've been acting differently," she says, looking at me with a sad sort of gaze.

"I've been feeling different."

"I don't like you like this."

"You're just my tutor, you don't really have to like me at all."

"Ouch, Marceline, that's harsh."

I shrug.

Her blonde hair sways as she shakes her head, frowning. "It's gone to your head, being popular."

"Whatever."

"What's the saying? Pride comes before a fall?"

"Maybe you should go, Bonnibel."

She lifts herself from the brunch bar and I watch as she halts in the kitchen doorway.

"I heard you've been kissing whoever you can get your hands on at every party you've gone to lately."

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing. I just think you should be more careful."

"Is that supposed to be a threat, Princess?"

"No. A warning."

"Look, nothing's going to stop me acting the way I am, Princess. Deal with it."

* * *

Oh, how stupid I can be sometimes.

I should have listened to her. I really should have.

I'm sick as a dog, stuck in my bed with a temperature of a hundred and three.

The doctor's pronounced it Glandular Fever. Otherwise known as Mono, or the 'Kissing' Disease.

God, I hate it when Bonnibel's right; pride surely does come before a fucking fall.

* * *

**This was an odd one, I know. Tell me what you think of it, though.**

**Congrats to Nobody2012 who guessed the identity of Flame Princess before I even had a chance to ask. For those of you who missed that review, the girl, 'Jenny' with the firey red hair is indeed Finn's new lurver.**

**The song Keila and Marceline are dancing to is the RAC mix of Feed Me Diamonds by MNDR, I was listening to it as I wrote today.**

**R&R, people! It keeps me motivated!**


	10. Comforter

**Apologies for the wait. Exams are a bitch and a half. As always, thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favouriting, all that jazz! 61 rewiews! Holy shitballs!**

**A special apology to Thatkid, who guessed correctly about the identity of the quarterback. I have no idea how I missed that review, but you were correct, a thousand apologies, dear. For those who also missed it (silly, silly) the identity of the quarterback is Mannish Man. You'll hear more from him later.**

**Thanks to Sunshinesandwhich, too for cheering me up after a really shitty day.**

* * *

Chapter 9: Comforter

There are reruns of _Buffy: The Vampire Slayer_ playing on my beaten up TV, though to be honest, I'm feeling too ill to really pay attention to what's happening. Which is surprising because I love Buffy. It's one of my favourite seasons and everything, with Glory as the Big Bad.

I roll over onto my side, trying to ignore the excruciating pain in and around my throat. Even my _ears _hurt. What the hell's up with that?

Dad won't let Lupin and Co. in the house. He said there's no sane reason for them catching what I've got when they really don't need to. It's only been two weeks since I fell sick and I'm already really lonely. I guess a short period of being incredibly popular cancelled out my ability to cope on my own.

It's been practically impossible for me to speak or swallow for a week. I've been ordered to consume as many Popsicles as I can, to help quell the inflamed glands which are causing the agony. I'm already sick of them.

My phone buzzes on my bedside table, amongst the clean and used hankies, the empty mugs, the scattering of books. The name _Princess _flashes on my screen, and my stomach flips guiltily.

Being stuck in bed contemplatively for a week has made me realize that maybe I got a bit carried away with the whole being popular thing. I was incredibly unsympathetic towards Bonnie after she dumped Finn. I was even acting like an ass to Lupin. The whole thing with Keila was fun, but the more I think about it, the more the way I acted reminds me of how I was back in Blythe during the bad times.

A few years ago, right after I'd lost my virginity, I went through a period of being my school's resident slut. Needless to say, it's not a time I'm proud of. Not because I'm a prude, but because I made myself miserable by letting guys use me for their own pleasure without gaining anything in return. It was three months of emotional and physical agony for me. I was confused and in pain.

I attempt to push these thoughts to the back of my mind, and gingerly press the lock code into my phone.

_How're you feeling today? I have some work for you to go over if you're feeling up to it. I can bring it over after school, if you like._

My heart clenches unbearably at that. She still wants to help me even though I stole her attention (albeit unintentionally), acted like a dick, and chucked her out of my house. Maybe it's because she feels bad about the way she acted, too.

It takes me an embarrassingly long time to type out my reply, given how my arms feel like jelly.

_Not bad. That'd be great, thank you. See you soon._

* * *

A pressure awakes me near my legs. I gently prod at the mass on top of my covers with a shin, eyes still shut, attempting to work out what's happening.

"Dad?" I croak, head swimming.

"No, sorry." The voice forces me to open my eyes; the afternoon sun is streaming in my skylight so her blonde hair is an illuminated halo of gold around her face. She's silhouetted against the light, her features hidden.

"I brought you some soup. Chicken noodle. I made it myself."

I sit up, agonisingly slowly. My chest feels tight and sore. I must look hellish with my red nose, bed head and gaunt cheeks. I make a sound which is halfway between a moan and a laugh.

"Thank you, but … Hot food burns."

"I could chill it."

"My dad'll appreciate it, it won't go to waste." I pause. "How did you get past him, anyway? Surely he didn't let you take the chance of being infected."

"He did say something about a quarantine," she smiles, "but I explained that I've been taking echinacea tablets, and they're keeping me healthy as a horse."

"Herbal stuff? You? I thought you science geeks didn't believe in that stuff?"

"Actually, I'm a firm believer in herbal medication. If used correctly it can be a big help."

She's holding some papers in her hands, which she hands to me awkwardly, saying, "Here, by the way. It's a mixture of graph-work and revision. I put in a few examples to get you started."

"Thank you, Bonnie."

"That's okay, I mean, I am your tutor."

"You were right."

"I know. It happens a lot."

"I should've listened to you."

"Look, Marceline, the only reason I warned you to cool it a little was because I heard the cheerleaders talking about half of them coming down with Mono. I was only trying to help, I didn't realize you'd already kissed one of them and caught it."

"Six of them," I sigh.

"Jesus, Marce! We only have fourteen cheerleaders, you've made out with nearly half the squad."

She must recognise the fact that I look oddly contrite, because she says nothing more on the matter.

"Sorry. I shouldn't be yelling at you when you're sick, I guess."

I arrange the homework on my bedside table, and glance at her, "It's okay, Bonnie."

There's a long silence, my heartbeat filling the air around us. She studies my face until her eyes are brimmed with tears. I gaze at her questioningly.

"I'm sorry I acted like a douchebag. I was just jealous and crazy and … well, you know what I was." Bonnie runs a hand through her hair as she speaks, and I find that my stomach flips.

Instead of speaking, I hold out my hand to her, watching as she laces her fingers through mine. It's odd. The spaces between my fingers fit hers perfectly and vice versa. Our skin tone varies, tanned and pale, but it looks strangely _right_.

"I forgive you. And I'm sorry too, for letting it go to my head. I-I used to have similar problems back in Blythe," I rub her knuckles gently, trying not to wheeze given how sore my throat is. "It turns out I'm a bit of an attention whore when I want to be. But I don't really like that side of myself. I miss everything being quieter and easier."

She smiles at me shyly. I blush.

"Friends?" she asks with a hopeful little shrug.

"Friends."

* * *

"I never really liked this show."

We're lying curled up together watching _Buffy_, she's spooning me from outside the blankets, and her nose is buried in the crook behind my ear.

"How come?" I ask hoarsely, taking a sip from my bottle of water. I wince at the pain of swallowing.

"Vampires freak me out."

"They freak everyone out, dude."

"Especially the ones on this show."

"You think? I always thought the 'bumpy' was kinda hot."

"Ew, no. I much prefer the _Twilight_esqué vampires."

"No, seriously!?" I awkwardly shuffle onto my other side, to confront her on this absurdity, only to find myself nose to nose with her.

She quirks an eyebrow and pecks the tip of my nose sweetly. "Seriously."

"I can't believe you like _Twilight_," I blush, staring at her messy bed-hair and thinking how cute it looks on her.

"Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner shirtless? What's not to like?" She grins.

I roll my eyes, "Uh, the script? The acting? The terrible effects? The awkward make-up? The overuse of references to other – better – literature?"

"You're moaning about the books, now."

"Yeah, well, those sucked too."

"You're cute when you're bitter," she laughs.

I smile at her crookedly and then pause, thinking.

"What is it?" she says.

"Will you come under the covers?"

"Why, Miss Abadeer, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Oh, shut up, Princess. I'm cold."

She says nothing, only smiling to herself, and awkwardly manoeuvres herself under the covers beside me. There's an awkward little moment where we just stare at one another, until I pluck up the courage to shuffle closer and snuggle against her body. Yes, I'm cold and she is radiating a delectable warmth, but really, I just wanted to cuddle her for being so ridiculously nice to me. Soup, homework help and staying to watch tv with me when I'm sick? I love this girl.

"Mmm," I hum contentedly, my face pressed against the crook of her neck.

I drift to sleep with the sensation of her lips finding mine in the growing darkness.

* * *

**Again, I'm sorry for the wait. I will try not to take so bloody long with the next chapter!**

**R&R for the sake of Marceline's Mono.**


	11. Before the Storm

**Well, I must admit, I'm unbelievably happy at the response the last chapter gleaned. Sugar-Free Gum has gone up about a two-thousand views since Comforter was posted. Thank you so much to you all, especially those who took the time and effort to review or favourite either myself or the story.**

**Okay, this is a little filler chapter, before some serious smut. So warning, if you are uncomfortable with sex scenes, skip the chapter which will come after this one. You'll be happier for it.**

**Thanks for listening to me if you did, if not, enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 10: Before the Storm

The second hand on my wristwatch has stopped. Or at least, that's generally what it feels like. My gaze has been alternating between the two clocks on the wall opposite me and the little round face on my wrist for the past thirty minutes. However, the time seems to pass only in the seconds in which my focus is solely on the exam paper in front of me.

I switch my attention to the squared paper in front of me, studying the questions set by some sadist with a talent for trigonometry. My breathing slows as I attempt to concentrate, carefully determining the value of _x_, marking out the volume of a sphere, differentiating an equation or two. It's just as I'm writing down the very last number in my answer for the integration question that the bell to mark the end of the exam tolls loudly through the classroom. I let out my hesitant breath. I finished the paper. How well I've done, however, I can't say.

With a small, pathetic groan, I lift my head to see Mr Canis, grinning from ear to ear at the students who have already gone to hand in their papers, he always has faith in our abilities, even when we know how incredibly shit we are. I grudgingly pull myself into a standing position and drag my way to his desk.

"How did you find it, Marceline?" he asks, with a small conspiratorial wink.

I shrug heavily, "I dunno. Guess I'll find out next week, huh?"

His smile falters for a brief second, but it's soon replaced with a look of blind confidence. "You'll have done brilliantly, dear. Try not to fret."

My paper rustles with a sense of finality as he takes it from me, putting it in the pile with the rest, and I dejectedly make my way from his classroom.

Somehow, I'm not surprised when I see Bonnie, kitted out in a baby pink sweater and light denim skinny jeans, hopping about outside his class. She still looks a little puffy and green around the gills from the Mono (which, yeah, she contracted from me though one (fairly innocent) little kiss, while I was still sick). But apart from that, she's practically buzzing with energy.

"So!? How'd it go," she grabs me by the shoulders, giving me a not so gentle shake.

"I finished the paper," I mumble, wondering how many coffees she's had waiting for my exam to finish.

"AND?!"

"I dunno, really," I repeat, trying to shush her a little; the class across from us is hosting an exam.

She sighs, letting me go with a dramatic gesture of frustration. "You're useless," she smiles at me. "I bet you did great. I mean, you were rhyming off pi to like, twenty places last night."

The hallways are quiet due to the fact that most people are either in exams, or on study leave preparing for them, so we're alone as we make our way through the maths department. I must admit, other than Mr Canis, the only thing I like about maths is the part of the school building where the classes reside. It's all tall glass windows and natural light. Given the fact that Adventure High School is surrounded by forest on one side, and flat plains with the view of the mountains in the distance on the other, it's quite a pretty view. Actually, from one of the windows I can see the mountain beside which my house resides. I pause beside this window, and press my palm against the glass, staring out across the playing fields.

"Marceline?" Bonnie says from beside me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" I ask absently, still staring outside. From this vantage point I can see the football team, practicing below us. Finn and his friends are running laps. I abruptly turn to Bonnie, hoping she doesn't spot her ex.

"Come on, my treat. A thank you for helping me study last night."

She smiles gently, "Alright, hon."

* * *

We're sitting in a café opposite Adventure High, where they serve homemade sandwiches and soup. Bonnie is looking over her notes for her English exam tomorrow, while I tuck into the toasted Panini in front of me.

"How many classes do seniors take again?" I ask through a mouthful of cheese and ham.

She sighs, "Usually four. I'm doing five, though."

"Of course."

"Of course," she agrees, flashing me a small grin.

I snicker and glance over at her writing, noting the line between her eyebrows. Over the past three months she's been tutoring me, I've noticed that she only gets that little wrinkle when something is really bothering her.

"Hey, you alright? Is something bugging you?" I ask.

She sighs lightly, and shuts her notes over, placing them neatly on the table. Something about the overly calm way she does this makes the hair on my arms stand up. It's all just a little too meditated, like she's preparing herself for something.

"Bonnie?" I squeak.

"It's been a couple of months since Finn and I broke up," she says and I nod, wondering where she's going with this. "Ethel says it's time I moved on, since he basically moved on while he was still dating me. What do you think?"

This takes me by surprise, so I use the excuse of chewing on my sandwich to give me time to form a response. Over the past three weeks, Bonnie and I have gotten closer. While I was still sick, she visited me every day after that first time, and when she eventually contracted my infection by being exposed to me (and smooching me in my half-sleep), I went to her house with ice-cream and Popsicles to ease the pain. She's finally up on her feet again, and I'm starting to become pretty attached to her. Apart from that one kiss in my sickbed, nothing more than friendly flirting has really happened. But that doesn't mean I don't want it to. In fact, I really wish it would. I can see how lonely she is without Finn - and even though I think he's a stupid prick for what he did to her with Jenny - in a way, I wish Bonnie could still be with him for her sake. She clearly still loves the guy. I mean, I see her staring at him when I'm staring at her across the canteen.

The thing is, I want her to be with me. But I don't know how happy she'd be about going public, and aside from our little drunken tryst, and her _friendly _flirting, I doubt she wants me the way I want her. I really just want her to be happy, but I'm afraid of ruining our relationship, now by bringing up the possibility of her and I together in a serious way. After all, as far as I'm aware, she's never had a girlfriend, or even any other boyfriends apart from Finn. So I don't really know what to do. And I don't know who to ask for advice.

"Are you ready to move on?" I ask carefully, trying to avoid a loaded answer.

She runs her hands through her hair, causing the loose curls to become even looser. "I don't know. I feel like I want to. I honestly don't know what I want, anymore."

"You still want Finn," I sigh, telling her what she knows subconsciously.

"You think so?" She looks at me in a fairly dejected way, and my heart aches dully for her.

"Well," I muse, attempting to inject some humour into the conversation. "You could just be desperate for a good shag."

My plan works, and I smugly smirk at her as she chokes with laughter on her diet Coke.

"How long have you been in Ooo, now?" she asks, smiling at me. "Six months? Half the time you sound vaguely American, then you randomly come out with little phrases like, '_desperate for a good shag'_."

I raise an eyebrow at her imitation of me, but say nothing, merely feigning indifference and taking another bite of my Panini.

However, when her perfectly manicured hand slides across the table and brushes mine gently, the atmosphere suddenly seems a lot less playful.

"You could always help me out, Marceline." She's looking up at me through her ridiculously long, dark eyelashes and smiling innocently.

I swallow thickly, and sit up straighter in my chair. Does that mean what I think it does? God, I hope so.

"You want to go out with _me_?" I ask incredulously, overjoyed that she's considered me as an option.

I can tell I've caught the wrong end of the stick by her laugh. Surely a light, musical laugh can't be the reason my heart is clenching unbearably.

"Go _out with you_? That wasn't what I meant, dummy!" She seems oblivious to the fact that she's stomping all over me, emotionally. "I was thinking more like … a session of stress release." She grins at me flirtily, and drops her voice to a whisper, "Plus, I've already seen you naked and worse, so it's not like you have anything to be bashful about."

It takes me a while to process what she's saying to me. She doesn't want to go out with me. She's horny and wants me to help her get off. I can't get over the fact that for someone so smart can be so oblivious to someone's feelings. Can't she see how built up I got over the thought of us dating? Is she really that thick? I barely manage to conceal my anger and frustration (and -let's face it Marceline - anguish at being basically rejected) by raising an eyebrow and coldly asking, "Haven't you ever heard of masturbation, Princess?"

A shiver arches through me despite my wish to remain unimpressed as she bites her lip and smirks at me.

"Of course I have. But don't you think things are much more _interesting_ with a partner?" Her voice has dropped dangerously low, and I jump in my seat when she drags the toe of her boot up the inside of my calf.

"Jesus, Bonnie," I hiss, blushing.

"So what do you say, want to help me relax tonight?" She leans across the table toward me, and I can feel her breath on my cheek.

I'm torn. I want her, but not as a sex toy. I want more than just meaningless flirtation and 'stress release'. I want all of her. And I don't think I can get it. Despite the fact that my heart throbs sadly at my summation, I realize that if I want to be closer to her, I need to give up on the hope of us being an official item. Being her fuck buddy is my best option, it seems. God, that's so depressing.

"What time do you want me to come 'round?" I ask and I can hear the finality in my own voice

* * *

**Well, that's chapter ten. The next one will be loooong. There will be sex. Swearing. Drug use. Tantrums. Jealous Lupin. Angry Finn. And an introduction of Jenny and Manny. **

**Stay tuned, folks! And R&R because your love is my drug. And I like Ke$ha. **


	12. Still Waters

**A little thing I wanted to mention before you go on with this chapter - I just wanted to point out that I think that using crude language to describe the situation in a sex scene is both uncomfortable to read and basically just lazy writing, so don't expect that to come. That being said, this is just a quick little reminder that this story is M for a reason, I've been going pretty easy on the sex scenes so far but this one's not going to be quite as restrained.**

**Also, I had to cut this down. So there will be Jealous Lupin and a Jenny Introduction in the _next _chapter. I'd apologise, but this is over 5,000 words and I stayed up 'til four AM finishing it, so I'm not bloody going to.**

**Warnings for sex, language.**

**Homophobes beware: there be lesbian sex ahead.**

**The interpretations of the characters are mine, but the real ones are not.**

* * *

Chapter 11: Still Waters

"Say, nine?" Bonnie seems elated that I've agreed to hook up with her tonight, and although I'm weirdly looking forward to it, I'm dreading it too. "You can stay over if you like. You know, if you're too tired to go back to yours." Her tone is dripping in innocence, but her foot (which had been casually stroking my calve) glides a little higher, brushing the inside of my thigh.

I jump so hard that my knees bang against the underside of the table, knocking my empty glass over with a dull '_thunk_'. She smirks hard at me and I wince as my blood rushes to my head.

"Something wrong?" She asks sweetly, laughing hard when I splutter unintelligibly at her in response.

My embarrassment is interrupted by new-comers to the café, and I groan audibly when I spot who it is.

Sweating, covered in mud and still wearing their football uniforms, Finn and three of his friends strut in, a picture of adolescent masculinity. Bonnie's attention is drawn in their direction and I see her flush uncomfortably. Thankfully, we're sheltered from their view by our sheltered little booth. So long as she doesn't make me yelp again, we will go unnoticed.

Bonnie is tipped off by my suddenly stern expression, because she turns to follow my gaze and blushes visibly.

"Well, speak of the devil and he doth appear," she grinds out between clenched teeth.

I place a hand on hers, willing her not to make a scene, "C'mon, Bonnie, we'll just wait 'till they leave, okay? Finish your Coke."

She doesn't look happy, but she resigns herself to her fate and we sit in a tense silence as Finn and his buddies walk right past us, unaware of our presence. I rub the spot between my eyebrows in distaste as they enter the booth behind us.

Over the past two months, my knowledge of the people at school has grown considerably, seeing as I've been grinding up against half of them at parties. Mostly, though, I'm aware of the hierarchy of the school's food chain. Footballers are at the top with each of their respective girlfriends. At the top of the pyramid, it was once Finn and Bonnie, an unstoppable force of attractive, witty, intelligence and sheer social prowess. Between their beauty, their grades and their extra-curricular activities (parties, football games and Bonnie's science bollocks) they were the ultimate It couple. After they split up, Bonnie realized that a big part of the reason she was accepted among the cheerleaders and athletes and popular kids was due to Finn. She stopped going to parties because she knew he'd be there, and I think it just reminded the rest of her friends that she is pretty much as geeky as they come. I mean, it was only really around Finn that she let her hair down, and now that she's avoiding him like the plague, she looks more up-tight than ever to her 'friends'.  
I said she should sit with me at lunch, but she didn't want to make things awkward, after everything that happened with Lupin. She doesn't think she could spend more than a couple of hours in his company without having a nervous breakdown from the tension.  
Unfortunately, stress and tension is all that awaits her in school these days, and even Ethel, one of her closest friends is acting weird with her.

I guess it's no wonder she needs a good fuck, with all that nervous energy rattling around her body.

The two guys with Finn are practically opposites in appearance: Shelby, whom I've only had the pleasure of speaking to once, and Manny, who I've spoken with many a time. He sits behind me in math class. Shelby is short, thin and wiry, with platinum blonde and grey eyes. His father is Polish, and his mother comes from Ooo, so he came out looking like a pixie, and acting like one as well. He's the kicker on the football team, and from what I've gleaned from conversations with Bonnie, he's having it off with Manny, though that's something that next to no-one knows. Manny, in comparison to Shelby –who, despite being a footballer is surprisingly prim – is a beast of a boy. Towering well above any student in school, with the broad chest and shoulders of a caveman, Manny is definitely one of the most intimidating people I've ever met, physically. Turns out he's a bit of a gentle giant, though, despite the shaggy hair and septum piercing. Personally, I think him and Shelby would make a really weird couple, but after mooning over Princess, I'm not really one to judge.

"C'mon, dude. Spill," I hear Manny demand, slapping a hand down on the counter to emphasize his point.

"You, know me. Never one to kiss and tell," Finn chuckles. I groan, already anticipating that this is a conversation we – especially _Bonnie _– shouldn't hear.

A bullish snort erupts from behind us. "Yeah, right. You went on and on for days after you fucked Bonnibel," Shelby says irritably.

Bonnie pales considerably and I mouth at her, "_Do you want to leave_?" hoping she does. But to my dismay she shakes her head, obviously wanting to hear what Lover Boy has to say.

"Bonnie was different," there's a slight edge to his voice that I've never heard before. "I loved her."

A sharp thrill of anger surges through me at that. If he loved her so much why did he cheat on her with Jenny, I think and from Bonnie's expression I'd say she's thinking the same.

"Yeah, yeah," Manny brushes the comment aside. "But did you _do it_?"

There's a pause before Finn answers, "Yeah, I did."

Bonnie and I share a look of confusion as Manny and Shelby whoop.

"Oh, my God, man! I can't believe she let you do her up the ass!"

The three of them are laughing, and it's too stark a contrast between the looks of disgust Bonnie and I shooting at the table between us. She looks like she's either going to vomit or cry. Or both.

I reach for her hand and pull her out of her seat. I don't stop to check if Finn spots us or not, I just drag her behind me as I bulldoze my way out of the café.

When we're safely outside and on the pavement, it's only then that I realize we didn't pay for our meal. Shit.

* * *

It's eight o'clock and I'm still trying to decide what to wear tonight. Whether to go for straight out sex underwear, or wear something cute. I mean, I know the reason I'm going over there is to put out, but I don't know if I should dress that way. I'm perched on the edge of my bed, wrapped in a towel, with my hair already dried.

I'm _so _nervous. My hands are shaking and everything.

Eventually, I settle on my light blue girl boxers and my blue lace bra. Understated, cute, yet girly and alluring. I flush as I wonder whether she is doing this too, choosing her underwear carefully when she knows it's only going to get ripped off again.

I take less time and effort over choosing my clothes because I _know_, they're not going to be on for any length of time at all. I chuck on a pair of loose, grey skinny jeans, white tank and a red plaid shirt, just enough layers to keep me warm in the chill of the evening for the walk over.

It's eight, fifteen when I'm checking my reflection once more, putting in my tiny silver hooped earrings, sticking on my grey beanie and chucks, trying to ignore the imperfections. I realize that if I don't leave now, I'll never leave, and turn away.

* * *

A sullen looking boy opens the door just as I'm jogging into Bonnie's driveway. He has her colouring, and seems to have the same obsession with pink (wearing a fuchsia and white striped t-shirt and matching vans) with cute, ruffled, strawberry blonde hair.

"Are you Marceline?" He asks, standing on the porch.

I nod nervously, feeling oddly uneasy by the adolescent in front of me. I stop at the steps leading to her door, at eye-level with the kid due to his shorter stature.

"My sister's in the kitchen. If she asks, you didn't see me," the hand movement he makes along with his last statement is oddly reminiscent of Obi-Wan's famous 'droids' hand slide. It's enough to tip me off that Bonnie's whole family are geeks, though until this point I had never met any of them.

"Sure thing, kiddo."

After he finishes sizing me up, we nod at each other briefly in mutual respect before we switch places, and I watch as he takes one last look at his house before running full pelt in the opposite direction. Weird.

* * *

"You never told me you had a brother," I say from behind her shoulder, surprising her in the kitchen. She's sitting in half-darkness studying her English notes fervently. I enjoy a sick sort of pleasure as she squeaks in surprise, clutching at her chest.

"Marceline! You scared the _shit _out of me, you nutcase!"

I grin at her, "I'm a ninja, what can I say?"

She huffs good-naturedly and shuts over her notebook, swiveling around in her chair to face me after catching her breath.

"Yeah, I've got a brother. Bruno. He's a good kid. Bit geeky."

"Says _you_."

"Shut it."

I grin at her nervously, and watch as she arranges her notes into a neat pile.

"Do you want a glass of wine? I thought we could maybe watch a movie."

Hang on. Movie? I realize it must be code for, 'go upstairs, wink, wink' and nod, "Sure, sounds good."

A little shiver ripples through me when her hip brushes mine as she struts past me, poking her head in her fridge. I hear the clatter and clunk of wine bottles and am instantly grateful that I will at least have something to calm me down.

"Red or white?"

"Red."

She goes about fixing two glasses, red and white, before handing me mine. "Come on, then."

Leaving her notes on the kitchen table, and first checking to see that the front door is locked, we head up the narrow staircase which leads to her bedroom. It's different to what it has been in the past few weeks while Bonnie was sick. The place is free of hankies and Popsicle wrappers and back to its' usual, cluttered, pink self.

I sit on the floor at the foot of her bed automatically, where I always sat while she tutored me or she shagged Finn. It seems to amuse her, though, and she gives me her glass to hold while she puts in the movie. Though I groan aloud as Kristan Stewart's voice fills the room, which Bonnie plunges into near-darkness by turning out the main light.

"_I had never given much thought to how I would die, but dying in the place of someone I love seems like a pretty good way to go_."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Princess. Why the hell are you subjecting me to this shit?" I whine as she slumps down beside me, plucking her wine from my hand.

"Because talking about it a few weeks ago made me want to watch it."

I groan again, irritated beyond belief. So much for being nervous about pleasing her. If there was ever going to be a film to turn me off, it'd be this one. I vow to myself to concentrate solely on the soundtrack and nothing more.

* * *

Needless to say, I've been ignoring the film almost completely. My focus has been on steadying my breathing, and figuring out what's going on. I kind of assumed that twenty minutes in Bonnie would be all over me, but she's just sat there, sipping her white wine and the movie's almost over. Or at least I'm pretty sure it is. The dance is how it ends, right? I don't really remember, only having seen it once when I was about fourteen and instantly having hated it.

I silently thank God as I'm proved right, watching with abject boredom as Muse plays over the credits. Bonnie stretches next to me and hums contentedly, and I have to force myself to behave. After all, I'm here to de-stress her. Sexually and otherwise, I guess.

"I forgot how good that film is," she comments, leaning on her bed as she turns to look at me.

I stare at her blankly, then blink as she bursts out laughing. "If you hated it so much, I'd have switched it off, Marceline."

My expression makes her laugh even harder, and I find myself sniggering along with her.

"You could have said that earlier," I snort.

She shrugs lightly, "Then I would have had to turn it off."

"Sneaky."

We stare at each other for a moment before she slides towards me, removing my half-empty wine glass from my grip. I study her features nervously as she hesitates, her breath ghosting across my neck and cheek.

Shivers roll up my neck as she slowly leans in, kissing the sharpest point of my jawline, and I audibly sigh as her lips part and she trails open mouthed pecks down my jugular. As she reaches my collarbone her tongue snakes out, and I feel her hand on my shoulder, holding me in place as she sucks – hard.

"Hnng," I grunt, "You're going to leave a mark."

She nips me with her teeth and I jump, but suddenly her face is beside me again, her usually light eyes dark, and smiling. "That's kind of the point."

I realize I'm blushing, a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"Are you okay?" Bonnie asks gently, a brief flash of concern gracing her features. "Marceline, you don't have to do this if you don't want t-mmf!"

I cut her off with a kiss, because I _know _if she gives me the opportunity to back out, I will. I want her. I want to feel her skin on mine. I just need to silence the guilty, sad little part of me which is screaming that I'm nothing more than a tool if I sleep with her. And to do that, I need to keep myself distracted.

The kiss is more than distracting enough, thankfully.

Somehow her hands find their way into my hair, removing my beanie, throwing it carelessly to the side. Then suddenly her nails are scraping against my scalp in time with the movement of her kiss and I bask in it. Just as I press my tongue to her lower lip, begging for access to her mouth, she breaks away from me, and I stare at her questioningly, wondering what I did wrong.

"We need music," she pants. "Get on the bed."

Usually, I'd tell her to fuck off for commanding me to do something, but I'm only too happy to comply, lifting myself from the foot of her bed onto the mattress while she scampers to her docking station.

Normally, I hate having sex with music playing. When you're as musically inclined as I am, it becomes incredibly distracting. And despite the posters on the walls of her bedroom, I fully expected something along the lines of Tell Me Something Good to blast out of her little pink dock. The ethereal sound of Michicant fills the air, and I suddenly realize how sexy Bon Iver can be. Bonnie grins at me as she returns, her hips swaying more than they usually would. I can't help but stare.

Standing at the foot of her bed, directly in front of me, I watch as she slowly lifts her t-shirt, revealing an expanse of tanned stomach, lightly toned muscle, and eventually a pale pink, polka-dot bra. Her hair comes out in a fluffy waterfall as she pulls the garment over her head, and I'm mesmerised as she tosses the white shirt to the side, one knee perched between my legs as I sit, stunned.

"I made you a playlist," she whispers, staring down at me.

"Thanks," I'm breathing heavily, dying to touch her, but afraid.

She slides forward, pressing her knee against the crotch of my jeans, so that my nose is pressed against the skin above her navel, between her bottom ribs. Understanding what she wants, I grip her hips to hold her still, and kiss her stomach. I feel her breathing catch in her chest above me, and experimentally press an open-mouthed kiss a little lower, dragging the flat of my tongue against her skin. It's enough to make her hands cup my face, and I repeat the action lower again, dipping my tongue into her navel. She tastes like salt and strawberries. The rumbling groan that escapes her amuses me, and I do it again, trying to hear it once more.

I squeak a little as she leans forward, using her weight to force me backwards, onto the blanket. Her stomach is still level with my mouth, and in this position, I realize how completely I'm at her mercy. She raises an eyebrow at me, daring me to move.

Deliberately moving slowly, I slip further down, risking giving myself early sex-hair. Thankfully she stays still, probably wondering what I'm up to. I take advantage of her stillness and half sit up once I reach the waistband of her jeans. As delicately as I can manage, I press the button loose and unzip her jeans. Hooking my thumbs in her belt loops, I kiss the lacy border at the top of her panties as my hands cup her hips and buttocks, using the gentle swell of her ass to work her jeans ever-downward.

I hear her groan, and smile against her skin as she bucks lightly.

"Let me on top?" I ask, raising my voice slightly because it's muffled in the position I'm in. I want her jeans off, and I can't do that while she's kneeling over me.

She must have a similar desire, because Bonnie rolls onto her side, and I take the opportunity to shuffle further up the bed, so I'm at the same height as her. I briefly hesitate, admiring her sleek, curved thighs, before sliding her jeans off the rest of the way, ungraciously chucking them behind me as I cup her ankles in my hands.

As the song fades from Bon Iver to something new, she sits up and stares at me. There's an intensity that kind of scares me in her gaze.

"You have too many clothes on."

"Huh?" _When did you get so articulate, Marceline? _

"C'mere," she beckons to me, and I crawl over her, so that I'm straddling her thin waist.

I watch as her hands go to the buttons of my shirt, popping them agonizingly slowly, one by one. She sits up slowly as she pushes the material down my shoulders till it's pooled at my elbows and we're nose to nose. I moan as she surges forward, lips on mine, and this time I don't need to ask for access to her mouth. Her tongue twines with mine, and I can taste white wine. Due to the material restricting the movement of my arms, the most I can do is wrap them around her waist as she explores my mouth. Her hands are not quite so restricted, and they vary in their position. After starting off in my hair, they somehow make it to my breasts, and between the kneading motion of her hands and the feeling of her suckling lightly on my tongue I feel familiar warmth pooling in my lower stomach.

"Bonnie," I whimper hoarsely as she pulls away from me, pecking me once lightly on the lips.

I'm unable to restrain her as she lifts my arms above my head, removing my shirt completely, followed by my tank top. We share a glance as she lifts her palms to my bra-clad breasts. Slowly, she leans in, not kissing me, but hovering her lips over mine as she reaches around my ribs to unclip the clasp on my bra, our breath mingling as the garment falls from me.

As she glances down I blush heavily, attempting not to feel so exposed. Then suddenly her hands are on my bare flesh and I groan, wincing as she pinches my nipples roughly. The assault on my breasts continues while her lips return to my neck, licking and biting a litany of marks into my skin.

Her lips make their way to my ear and she traces the shell with her tongue, earning a violent shiver in return.

"Have you ever gone down on a girl before?" She whispers, emphasising her words with duel tweaks of my nipples.

I melt, feeling my ears and face burn. Oh, God. I don't think I can cope with this.

"N-No," I admit, my nails digging into the planes of her shoulder blades.

She kisses my ear once, twice, and I _feel _her smirk, "Perhaps a demonstration is in order, then."

Out of nowhere I'm getting flipped and I land on my back, lying stunned as Bonnie removes my jeans with slightly telling ease. I arch instinctively off the bed as she kisses up the inside of my bare thigh (thank God I shaved) and presses a light kiss to the steadily growing damp patch over my centre.

I mewl, and lift my hips to meet her mouth, groaning in disappointment as she moves away. It takes me a split second to realize that she's giving herself room to remove my boxers.

"Wait, Bonnie," I plead as she's pulling them down my thighs. She hesitates and blinks up at me, head tilted.

My breathing is shallow and I can feel a bead of sweat trickling between my breasts. I'm so nervous I can feel my legs twitching involuntarily.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," she whispers. "Please."

She looks so unbelievably pretty, mussed up with swollen lips and unusually dark eyes, I can't resist her. So I settle for pulling her in for a kiss as she slips my boxers past my knees. I kick, sending them away, and suddenly realize I'm naked, save for my bracelets.

Bonnie doesn't seem too bothered, sweetly kissing me, braced over me on her elbows. I attempt to control my breathing as she makes a trail down my body with her lips and tongue. I do well until she reaches my pelvic bone and my breathing hitches audibly.

"Shh, baby, it's okay," she murmurs against my skin and kisses her way between my legs. My thighs part instinctively and I groan as she kisses up the length of my opening, yelping when she digs her tongue between my slick folds.

I make a strangled noise at the sensation. Sure, I've had guys go down on me before, but not like this. This isn't guesswork; Bonnie knows _exactly _what she's doing and where-ohhh-she's doing it.

I writhe, unable to form proper speech other than a string of obscenities and I feel her hook her arm over my hips to keep me in place. I manage to restrain myself until her free hand joins her ministrations, rubbing a figure of 8 into my clitoris; as soon as she does that, I feel ecstasy sweep along my limbs from my centre outward. I shake with the aftershocks as she licks me gently, twitching with every stroke of her tongue, shivering when she presses the length of it into me, rocking in and out in time with my muscles as they spasm.

And then something incredible happens. As he removes her tongue from me and locks her lips around my clit, she slides two fingers into my entrance, curls them abruptly and _hums_. It's a low guttural hum and the vibrations of it send me over the edge again.

It's not exaggerating in the slightest to say that I see stars. White bursts of light in my vision, and I'm aware that I've pretty much just screamed her name.

It takes me a few seconds to come down fully, in which time she reappears in my line of vision, sweating and rubbing her aching jaw.

She flops beside me, and brushes my dark hair away from my face. It takes all of my effort to turn to her, and pull her closer to me. I kiss her chin and jawline, her lips, lick at the essence of myself in her mouth, and drag my teeth over her tongue.

"Marce," she gasps as I nip her earlobe, kissing down her hairline and deliberately marking her in the same place I _know_ she left a hickey on me.

I have to stop, because my limbs feel like jelly, so we lie together, listening to the music which is still running in the background.

"Who is this?" I ask absently, playing with the bow on her bra.

"Imogen Heap."

It's pretty, airy and light music. Acapella.

Suddenly her voice joins the music, and I lie mesmerised.

"_Spin me round again and rub my eyes, this can't be happening_," she half whispers.

The music builds and I close my eyes as she sings, because I'm drowning in her and she's everywhere.

Before I can stop myself, tears have escaped me, my eyes clenched shut and yet they still roll down my cheeks, dripping off the bridge of my nose into my hair. She doesn't notice and I'm grateful, because I can't stop.

When the music fades to nothing I nuzzle closer to her, pressing my lips to her shoulder to hide my red eyes. "Can I try something?"

She nods silently, and I sit up, pulling her with me, and kiss her quickly as a distraction while I remove her bra. My fingers stumble over the clip, but it slips off easily enough between us and I cup her breasts in my hands, feeling the weight and softness and shape of them. Rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, I bite her lip and feel them stiffen in response.

"Kneel," I command, her lip still between my teeth.

She does as I bid, and I release her lip, kissing under her chin, "Take off your panties."

It takes some rearranging but she manages to get them off, and I force her to sit back, legs spread, her chest falling and rising with her shallow breath. Soft, red-gold curls adorn the apex of her pelvis and I take a second to run my fingers through it, watching her shudder.

Without warning I pull her towards me, and lift my leg over the top of hers so I'm straddling one of her thighs, pressing my core against her leg and my own thigh against hers. She moans and I feel her nails dig into my shoulder, arching up into me. Slowly, I sit up straight and kneel with one knee on either side of her right leg, repositioning myself so I'm facing slightly right. She instinctively lifts her hips and in that moment our hot, wet centers touch. I go blind, light overtaking my vision as I moan and pull her left leg to my chest and hold it there, using it as leverage to thrust against her. She's panting violently as I continue to pin her beneath me, my hips working against hers in a way that I didn't know was possible. I watch as she arches and writhes, biting her lip and begging me not to stop.

As if I could stop.

"Bonnie - oh, God," I'm crying again, my face buried in her loose fall of hair.

I hear her moan my name and suddenly everything is sharper, hotter and I feel my orgasm consume me, and judging by the fact that she's biting my shoulder, her hips spasming violently, I think she's sinking into the depths of one herself.

As we ride it out together, her lips somehow find mine, hot and slow.

And then it's over, and I untangle us gently, unable to really peel myself from her, eventually giving up and letting my weight rest on her.

I sigh contentedly, exhausted, "I love you."

There's a silence and I realize the reason it sounds so stark is that the playlist has ended.

"_What_?"

* * *

**MWHAHAHAHA, I bet you hate me for that!**

**WELL I DON'T CARE! Sugar-Free Gum has just gone over 10,000 views!**

**So a cliffhanger is your present :D**

**The title is a reference to a poem by Sharon Olds, if you google it, you'll realize why the smut is bittersweet as fuck.**

**R&R and I will write more sexytimes. Oh, and also review if you want me to post the playlist Bonnie made for Marcie, because it's actually one of mine.**


	13. Sex Hair and Cigarettes

**This seems to be a running theme for me, apologising for taking so long, and for that I also apologise. My workload has basically doubled over the past couple of weeks, and let me tell you, it wasn't exactly light before. Anyway, you know the drill.**

**Alright, as a pressie for passing the 100 reviews check-point, here is that playlist, dedicated especially to _Mehlah94_, _sylverwolfe_ and _beajizz. _**

**_Michicant – Bon Iver_**  
**_Gracious – Ben Howard_**  
**_In My Line Of Business (From Chloe) – Mychael Danna_**  
**_Night Fighter – Raised By Swans_**  
**_Perth – Bon Iver_**  
**_Sundown – Charlie Simpson_**  
**_Runaway – The National_**  
**_Hide and Seek – Imogen Heap_**  
**_Holocene – Bon Iver_**  
**_Tennessee Waltz – Eva Cassidy_**  
**_Hangin' Tree – Band of Heathens_**  
**_May You Never – John Martin_**

**Also, to _mugwazere _my exams went very well, thank you! I passed 'em all :D**

**M for a reason, swearing, smoking, sex, so on and so forth.**

* * *

Chapter 12: Sex Hair and Cigarettes

"Marceline, what did you just say?" She blinks at me, caught between post coital bliss and astonishment.

I am frozen. Wondering whether it would be better to burst into tears or continue to blush myself into oblivion. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was meant to hide my feelings for her and reap the physical benefits of our relationship while secretly harbouring my affections in peace. It was _not _supposed to slip out as I curled up against her. Those three little condemning words:

_I love you_.

"Have you got a cigarette?" I attempt nonchalance. To ignore the problem and hope it goes away is the only option I see right now. Marceline the amazing Ostrich-Woman, come see her suffer for her stupidity!

"Marceline," she rolls onto her side, staring at me hard. "Did you just say, 'I love you'?"

I fist my hands in her bed-sheets angrily, and meet her perplexed stare with my best 'don't mess' face. Judging by the way that her features soften and her eyebrows rise (in what can only be pity), the look falls flat.

"Marceline," she whispers, moving closer to top me again.

It's only confusion which keeps me still enough for her to straddle my waist without complaint. I can feel how wet she is by the slick trail she's leaving on my stomach, but I'm too weirded out for a Round Two. I just told her I love her. Why isn't she freaking out? She must notice how utterly bizarre I'm finding her behaviour, because she smiles softly down at me.

"It's okay, I don't mind."

"What?"

"If you're crushing on me, I mean. I don't mind."

"Who said I was crushing on you?"

She blinks, surprised, "You said, 'I love you.'"

"That doesn't mean I'm crushing on you, you idiot." I counter, glaring at her despite the fact that my hands find her hips to steady her as she rocks against me.

"Then I don't mind if you're in love with me," she whispers, still grinding against me. She looks practically angelic, surrounded in moonlight, naked, the closest to vulnerable I've ever seen her.

I sit up abruptly, so our breath is mingling, and wrap my arms around her waist. She beams at me, and kisses the tip of my nose.

"Does this mean that you don't love me back?" I ask, wincing inwardly at the dejected tone of my voice.

Her lips find mine, planting a warm, drugging kiss in their wake.

"Sorry, Marceline."

I shouldn't feel so upset. I _knew _it was one-sided. That she only wanted me on a physical level. I'm her friend – possibly her best friend, now that Ethel is hanging out with Jenny – nothing more. I _shouldn't _feel so upset.

And yet, here I am. Tears leaking from my mascara tinged lashes into Bonnibel's hair.

Somehow, Bonnie finds it in herself to kiss the salty tracks down my cheeks, peppering my neck with small, sucking bites.

She makes love to me all over again. She whispers the same phrase as her lips and fingers trace my body.

"I'm sorry."

Her apology makes me sink further into bliss, and I realize that not only is my love unrequited, it's _growing_.

* * *

We're lying in her bed, with her propped between my legs, lying back against my stomach. It's about two in the morning, and I'm weak in the knees from her _apology_. I feel somewhat numb, after her (admittedly very honest) declaration that although she appreciates my affection for her, she doesn't feel that way about me. I don't want to cry or scream at her. In an odd way, I'm content. By no means am I happy, but when am I ever happy about anything?

I'm using an empty mug as an ashtray, attempting to enjoy my first post-coital cigarette since back in Blythe. Bonnie's making it difficult, by determinedly asking me questions about my infatuation with her.

"So it's been, what? Two months since you realized you love me?" she asks with more than a hint of pleasure in her tone.

I blow a smoke ring. "Just about. It's been on and off."

I've resigned myself to being honest about this.

"Why?"

"Because you felt the need to occasionally be a cunt."

"Geez, touchy much?"

"Shut it, Princess."

Well-manicured fingernails are lightly drawing patterns against the inside of my thigh. A sigh escapes me as I stub out my cigarette.

"Does Lupin know?"

"No one knows. Apart from you, obviously."

She hums, and rolls onto her stomach, still between my legs, "What do you love about me?"

"How narcissistic are you?" I roll my eyes at her, blushing in annoyance.

"Very. Now, spill."

As much as I'd like to tell her to fuck off and give me peace, she looks quite beautiful with her dark eyes and sex hair, legs popped in the girliest way possible behind her.

"I love your brain," I blurt.

"Huh?" She cocks an eyebrow at me, and I look away.

"You know. You're really smart and stuff."

"Oh, for God's sake, Marceline. Couldn't you even be original about it?"

I'm about to punch her, when I noticed the laughter in her eyes. She's deliberately trying to piss me off.

_Well, two can play at that, bint._ "I love your body."

Now I have her. She turns pink, sitting up to face me. "What?" She splutters.

"I love your legs, and your stomach, and your neck," I pull her close to me and cup her crotch roughly, making her shiver. "I love _here_, too."

Round Three commences almost instantaneously and this time, I discover that her left earlobe is particularly sensitive, and sucking on it makes her _purr_.

* * *

An alarm wakes us both at six thirty, AM. While my first instinct is to groan and throw my arm over my eyes to block out the sunlight streaming through the open window, next to me, Bonnie sits up.

I peek out from under my arm to watch as she stretches. Her bare back is turned to me, tanned and beautiful in the pale gold light. As she reaches above her head, the vertebrae in her spine pop into place one by one, and I watch with fascination as the movement ripples along her body.

"God, that's hot," I croak.

She laughs throatily; sleep making her voice huskier and deeper, "Awake?"

"Just about."

The easy grace in which she sits perched on the edge of her bed astounds me. She seems so comfortable in her nakedness.

"Well, you can go back to sleep if you like. I've got an exam this morning, so I need to shower. It finishes at ten, so if you have a long lie, I'll wake you up when I'm back home."

I don't need to be told twice, rolling away from her and fully intending to doze off again, "Hope it goes okay, Princess, see you when you get back."

"You're buying me lunch, later, by the way."

"Sure," I yawn.

"And going down on me."

"Whatever."

"And cleaning my car."

"Go sit your exam, Princess; I'm trying to sleep here."

I feel lips against my temple, and smile as she whispers a warm goodbye to me.

* * *

**Okay, this is a shorty, but the next one will be longer.**

**So tell me, do you think Bonnie is being a narcissistic bitch? Do you think Marceline is whipped?**

**Do you think the other characters will have something to say about this?**

**You'll have to wait until Friday to find out.**

**R&R you lurvely people.**


	14. So Not The Drama

***HAHAH, sorry, I'm not all there tonight* **

**I should have been more specific, I meant the following Friday – today. Which, I'm pretty sure, most of you guessed, given that today is Friday and I'm updating.**

**So, hi.**

**On another note, I recently received a PM complaining about the way that, "Marceline feels the need to recap on the events of the previous chapter." I'd just like to say, for those of you who find this irritating, I apologise – because I'm not changing this aspect of her character. I "recap" so to say, on previous events so that Marceline's thought processes are clearer. It's not because I think you are all idiots who can't follow a plot.**  
**This being said, I'm not discouraging readers from confronting me about things they find wrong with SFG. I'm happy to take your opinions into account, even if I dismiss them after considering their merits.**

**Anyway.**

**M for sex, swearing, and so on.**

* * *

Chapter 13: So Not The Drama

The sunlight proves to be too distracting for me to drift fully back to sleep, so I lie contentedly in Bonnie's bed, spread-eagled, basking in her scent. After last night's activity I can smell her on me, and as creepy as that sounds, I actually like the sweetness which now clings to my hair and skin.

A swift glance at her docking station tells me that it's nine-fifteen. I have an hour and a half until she comes back home. I reach out to press play on her iPod which is plugged into the dock and rise from her bed, naked, to the sound of Chopin. (Although, the peace is broken after one track when Miley Cyrus blasts out after the tranquil piano music. I almost immediately lose all respect for Bonnie. Even if Rock Star is _incredibly _catchy.)

I wander around her room, stretching like a cat and running a hand through my (unbelievably dishevelled) hair. I'm still trying to come to grips with the revelations of last night.

Apparently Bonnie is content to be in a one-sided relationship with me. She'll treat me like a friend, have sex with me - even continue to tutor me in maths. But no 'dates'. Nothing public. And she is adamant she doesn't love me back. So I can't tell anyone that I'm fucking her. Not even Lupin and Co. I'm not really too sure if I'm upset or not. Sure, I'd be a lot happier if she'd said she loves me back, and yeah, I'd like to smooch her in the park like regular couples can, but nothing's perfect I guess.

I can't tell if I'm settling or not and it's kind of freaking me out a little.

Not really wanting to dwell on it, I hunt for my jeans. My clothes from last night are strewn across the floor, but I don't really want to put on day-old underwear, so I casually raid Bonnie's drawers until I come across one full of neatly folded panties. I assume she won't mind me borrowing a pair, and choose the only pair I can see which isn't pink.

The music changes from Billy Ray Cyrus' spawn's caterwauling to something I don't mind as much.

"Na na na na na, come on," I sing under my breath, realizing that I haven't heard this song in about three years.

I unconsciously sway in time with the music as I hunt for my tank top from last night, finding it in a crumpled heap next to Bonnie's jeans.

"I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it. Sex in the air, I don't care – I love the smell of it. Sticks and stones may break my bones but _chains and whips excite me_," I belt, pulling the shirt over my head.

And turn to see Bruno standing in the doorway.

Needless to say, even for someone as laid-back as me, I still scream like a total girl when provoked.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" He yelps, flushing bright pink.

I'm clutching my chest, breathing heavily as he yells at me, unable to speak. "Why are you dancing about in your underwear? And where's Bonnie?"

"She's sitting an exam," I pant, pulling on my skinnies as he awkwardly looks away.

After regaining my breath, I zip my jeans and turn to glare at him, my temper flaring.

"Haven't you ever heard of _knocking, _you little prick?"

His already quite remarkable blush deepens incredibly and I stand taller as he takes a threatening step forward, trying to ignore Rihanna in the background.

"I think you'll find that this is _my _house, so I don't _need _to knock," he spits.

The complete and utter insolence in his tone riles me badly and I find myself gesturing violently as I yell back at him, "It's your _parent's _house and your _sister's _room, so I think _you'll_ find-"

"God, shut up," he interrupts with a truly infuriating callousness.

"No, you shut up!"

"_Who wants waffles!?"_

We glare at each other venomously even as we both yell our simultaneous "me's."

* * *

I'm met with a fairly awkward encounter when I slip into the kitchen where Bonnie's mother was shouting from.

She's wearing a man's pyjama shirt as a nightdress, with no trousers of her own. And she has very nice legs.

Since meeting Bonnie's parents a few months ago, I've had several moments of general awe at their attractiveness. Seriously, since I moved to Ooo I have never met two people quite as good-looking as Mr and Mrs Burrier. They ooze confidence and intelligence, much like their daughter. Bonnie seems to have inherited her mother's face-shape and body-type with her father's colouring, because while Mr Burrier is tanned, strawberry blonde and grey eyed, his wife is fair, with dark hair and cat-yellow eyes. Very sexy.

"Heya, honey," she sing-songs to me as I grab a plate from the drying tray, stacking my waffles neatly while I attempt to ignore Bruno's insistent nagging that I'm in his way.

"Hiya, Missus Burrier," I mimic her cadence through a forkful of waffles and hop onto the worktop, swinging my legs playfully.

She sighs and gives my thigh a sharp smack with her (clean) spatula, "I'm not gonna tell you again, my name's Clara, quit making me feel like my mother-in-law."

I shrug and continue to eat, refusing to give in to her request (as always) while she piles more waffles onto my plate until I have to hold it out of her reach to make her stop.

"Mom, Marceline was dancing about in her underwear in Bonnie's room."

"Snitch," I growl at him, feeling my ears burn as Clara raises a sardonic eyebrow at me before turning on her son.

"And what, pray tell," She begins, "where you doing going into your sister's room?"

My waffles are suddenly very sweet in my mouth as I enjoy Bruno's painful interrogation.

"I, uh … wanted to borrow something."

"What?" Oh, she's hitting him with the full hands-on-hips, foot-tap, now.

"… a DVD."

"Which DVD?"

He hangs his head in shame, "The Kim Possible box set."

"You can't take your sisters' things without asking her first, Bruno. You know the rules." She returns to the waffle iron, leaving Bruno to stew in his guilt at the breakfast table.

I'm torn between laughing at Bruno's discomfort and shame, and asking if he was being serious about wanting to borrow the _Kim _fucking _Possible _box set.

* * *

When Bonnie finally gets back, I'm sitting on the floor in her living room eating cereal with her brother, watching a certain red-headed cheerleader karate kick her way through some fairly buff henchmen. … Okay, so I sort of gave in and helped Bruno steal from his sister. Sue me for liking cartoons.

I feel her bag thump down on the couch Bruno and I are leaning against, followed by a heavier thump as she throws herself after it.

"How'd the exam go?" I ask, eyes glued to the TV.

"Fantastic," she grunts sarcastically. "I love having throbbing wrists from writing so much."

Bruno shushes us, so I elbow him in the ribs as I answer Bonnie.

"You want a drink or something? Or an ice-pack for your hand?"

She sighs and grunts a negative, before realizing what we're watching.

"Did you _steal my Kim Possible DVDs?!_" she screeches.

"Yup," Bruno and I affirm together.

We cover our ears as she screams, "_MOM!"_

* * *

"Stop sulking, already," Bonnie says, kissing my exposed shoulder.

"Bite me."

I jump when she literally does.

"Ah! Not like that, fucking hell."

"Language."

My sullen silence amuses her and she rests her chin near the crook of my neck from behind, chuckling in my ear.

"Why are you mad at me?"

"Because you made your mum yell at me."

"You shouldn't have helped Bruno steal my stuff, then, shouldja?"

I ignore her, crossing my arms over my breasts.

"Why are you pissed she yelled at you? Are you afraid of my mom, or something?"

"No, but I want her to like me."

"She does like you, dolt."

"… Really?" I shudder gently and buck back against her lap as her fingers trail down my stomach, my bad mood forgotten all of a sudden, my arms snaking behind me to cradle her face.

"'Course she does, Marceline. She thinks you're _quirky_."

The last word is punctuated by a squeeze of my, now exposed, left breast with her free hand, and my head lolls back against her shoulder.

There's a short silence as she continues to touch me, as my mewls become less restrained.

"You're awfully receptive today," she says, rubbing her fingers through the moistness between my thighs. I lurch gently. "What's up with that?" She asks.

"It's because your mum's hot and you made me think about her."

"… Marceline, that's _sick_."

"I'm only kidding."

"No you're not."

"No, I'm not."

She shoves me off her lap, only half playfully, and I fall in an unclothed heap against her pillows.

"For that little comment you can get _yourself_ off. My wrist is still too sore from that exam, anyway."

The last part is a lie. She's been home for hours, now and I gave her a wrist and an arm massage earlier. There's no way there can be any tension left over in her body from that exam. Especially seeing as I went down on her earlier, just like I promised. (I'm not cleaning her car, though.)

She uses the black hairband around her wrist to tie her hair up, pretending to ignore me as she pulls her hair into a loose bun. I can't believe that I find her 'unamused' face hot.

I lounge back against the wall behind me, propping up the pillows, and slide my hand down my thigh, calling her bluff.

The movement catches her attention, and I smirk as she blushes, realizing what I'm fully prepared to do.

My gaze never leaves her as I slide my fingers down my opening. My teeth dig into my bottom lip and I feel my body bloom with heat. It's somewhat prosaic compared to Bonnie's touch, but watching her watching me is a big turn on, so I don't mind so much.

Then I realize that I'm doing this as much for her as I am for myself and alter my position. I spread my thighs a little wider, throw my head back and arch as I enter myself for the first time, knowing that the highest point of my body for her is my breasts.

When my body comes down from its arch, I hear her groan.

"Marceline, that's … I-I …"

She sounds incredibly flustered, and I feel a swell of pleasure from her voyeurism.

Generally, I wouldn't moan while I'm doing this. A furtive session of 'stress release' doesn't usually make me howl with pleasure. It's too predictable, touching yourself, to feel _real _heat. But I don't mind cheating a bit for Bonnie.

I growl, deep in my throat, deepening in pitch on the inward motion of my fingers' movements. The (kind of embarrassingly girly) moan when the heal of my hand grinds against my clit isn't fake, however, and I attempt to accentuate it by fisting my free hand in my hair.

Between Bonnie's laboured breathing, the added eroticism of being watched, or a combination of the two, my orgasm rushes over me quite unexpectedly, and I honestly don't have to feign the soft mewling whimpers that accompany the frantic movements of the hand between my legs.

I sit up, however shakily, to stare Bonnie in the eye.

And place my fingers in my mouth.

* * *

"Thanks for having me over," I grin, as I'm standing on her doorstep, waiting to leave. It's after seven, my dad'll be wondering where I've gotten to, so I really need to go home.

Bonnie smirks at me, haughtily, "My pleasure."

"You realize this is the first time we've been together that you haven't made me do any Maths, right?"

"… Oh, my God, you're right."

"I like it."

"Of course you do."

"Goodbye, Princess." I turn, and offer her a back-handed wave.

"Bye, baby," she calls after me.

I turn, smile, and wave again, watching as she slips back inside.

She's going to freak when she realizes I stole her Kim Possible DVDs.

* * *

**This is essentially some fluff before all of you end up hating me for my planned future plot twist. Enjoy it while it lasts, this shit is gonna get angsty.**

**R&R, and you will find out why.**


	15. Sugar Free Apology

Hi, readers.

I know this is kind of unorthodox, but I thought that you lot deserved to know that SFG will be taking a (hopefully short) break.

I'm really sorry about this, but my dog passed away this morning (it's about half eight in Scotland right now), and I can't really concentrate on Marcie and Bonnie just now.

I'll be back when I'm feeling a bit better, but I don't know when that'll be exactly, so thank you for your patience in advance.


	16. Temper

**Hello my dear readers, long time no type. I hope you're all well. I'm going to go on a wee rant before we get back to the story, so bear with me.**

**I want to thank all of you who reviewed or PMed me with condolences for my dog. I've come to terms with it, and although I still miss him an absurd amount I know that he's in a much better place, and I am now, too. There are too many to name individually but you know who you are and I'm so, so grateful for your kind words.**

**I want to thank those of you who have been patient and haven't given up on SFG, I really appreciate your dedication.**

**I also want to thank Charlie Walnut (cool name, right?) for their review. This morning I was considering giving up on SFG. I felt that I'd been away from it too long, and was losing my interest in it because it basically became associated with my dog's death. I logged into FF.N today to delete SFG from this website, because I thought it would simply be a tease only having half a story up. When I saw (1) in my inbox however, I curiously clicked on the icon and read Charlie's (wonderfully lengthy) private review. It reminded me of why I started writing SFG in the first place, and how much enjoyment I get from writing in general. So this chapter is dedicated to Charlie, because if it wasn't for them, you wouldn't be reading SFG right now, or ever again. In fact, I think you should all go spam them right now for being a bloody brilliant person.**

**Back to the point, then. The plot twist has differed slightly from what I originally intended, but you can't miss what you never had, right folks?**

**Rated M for swearing, drug use, and the usual.**

**I own nothing of consequence.**

* * *

Chapter 14: Temper

It's close to eight by the time I arrive at my house, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see my dad pruning the roses in our front garden. He hasn't touched them since we arrived, but we used to have the most beautiful lawn back in Blythe thanks to him. I can still remember him telling me about all the different types of flowers when I was younger. He was always happiest working in the garden. He says it relaxes him after crunching numbers all day.

"Hey, you," I sing-song, leaning on the fence next to him. "Miss me?"

He looks up briefly, rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the flowers. "You've got a hickey on your neck," he says irritably.

I find myself blushing awkwardly, and my hand automatically shoots to the spot on my neck where Bonnie had been sucking last night. A light shiver arches through me at the memory.

He sighs at my silence, "I take it things went well with Bonnibel, then. Are you two an item or what?"

"It went pretty well, I guess," I shrug. "No, we aren't. But I told her how I feel." I watch as he sprays slug-killer on the roses, wondering if anyone else's dad would be as willing to talk about this as he is.

"What did she say?"

"She says she doesn't love me."

He halts in his efforts and squints up at me, his dark messy from the gardening.

"And you're okay with that?"

"… I guess. She said we can still be friends and … y'know … do stuff," I say evasively, gesturing awkwardly.

"Don't want to know, thanks," he grimaces and I blush anew. "Your dinner's in the microwave, go eat something before all the blood rushes to your head and you faint."

* * *

Bonnie's moan is low and soft, rumbling in her chest and sending gentle tremors vibrating through her back against my stomach.

"Shh," I whisper. "Are you trying to get us caught?"

Today is exam result day for our prelims. The exams that, technically, we can fail without it affecting our grade at all. As I'd expected I got an A for music, English and History, with a very respectable B+ in Maths and Geography. So generally, I'm feeling pretty good. Bonnie, on the other hand is practically distraught. Or, at least, she was until I dragged her into this toilet cubicle for a session of 'stress release'. She seemed to think that the world was ending because she got an A- in German. Who the fuck even cares about German, anyway?

I'm leaning back against the door to the cubicle with Bonnie's back pressed up against me, my hips cradling the swell of her buttocks. I can feel my right wrist beginning to cramp from the repetitive motion as my fingers enter her over and over, my left hand mercilessly kneading one of her breasts through her shirt. It's probably not the classiest place for a romp, Adventure High's senior girls' toilets, and if anybody had to discover us - with one of my hands down her skirt and knickers - I think it's safe to say we'd both be truly fucked. If you'll pardon the pun.

It's been a week since we first slept together, and every day since we've been with one another. We've not had sex since coming back to school two days ago, though and apparently Bonnie was as sexually frustrated as I was because of it.

My attention is brought back to her as her muscles clench rhythmically around my fingers, and her head lolls back against my shoulder. She lets out a contented sigh and murmurs something I don't quite catch.

"What?" I whisper, my fingers still inside of her, my other arm hugging her around the waist.

"Küss mich," she repeats hoarsely.

I glance down at her quizzically, unmoving.

"Kiss me, you idiot," she half laughs, half sighs.

My lips are on hers in an instant, and we're just beginning to sink into a warm, post-coital make-out session when I hear someone coming into the toilets.

I freeze, and jump back from Bonnie, pressing my finger to her lips as I do so. She looks totally freaked but there's no escape until the intruders leave, so I pull her with me, as I silently climb to sit on the water tank behind the toilet seat, beckoning her to join me so that they don't spot our feet under the door.

"… see the way she was staring at him? _Again_. I'm _sick _of this Ethel, I'm sick of him talking about her and talking about how he feels bad for her."

I watch Bonnie flinch, at the sound of Jenny's voice, and carefully put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to keep her calm so she won't blow our cover.

"I wouldn't worry about it, honey. From what I've heard she's got her plate full. Manny said that he saw her walking home at like, 11 o'clock on Saturday, sex hair a-go-go."

Bonnie and I share a glance. She'd been at mine that night, but had needed to go home to babysit Bruno.

"Really, now? I never thought she would be the kind to rebound. Hm. Pass me your lipstick, will you?" There's a short silence and the sound of smacking lips. "Thanks. So, what do you think I should do? Break up with him?"

"No way. It's not worth it over something as little as you not wanting to hear about Bonnie. Just talk to him, tell him you're unhappy. Finn's a nice guy, he'll get it."

"I guess."

"Are you going to LSP's party on Saturday?"

"Yeah, have to make an appearance. Wish I didn't though, that girl's such a gossipy bitch."

"Jenny!"

"Well she _is_."

"Have you heard Marceline's band is playing at it?"

"Really? I'm surprised they even rehearse; they usually look too stoned to even pick up an instrument."

I hear Ethel snort in amusement and grind my teeth silently in annoyance.

"Do you think Bonnie'll be there?"

"Probably not. She's not been at a party since Finn's. I still can't believe _she _kissed Marceline."

"Ethel, _everyone's _kissed Marceline."

"Yeah, but everyone's not _Bonnie_."

Their topic of conversation shoots me a hurt look and I smile at her as comfortingly as I can.

"That's true. She does seem to have some sort of stick up her butt about something. She never used to be that way when we were kids."

"When you were kids?"

"Oh, didn't you know? Bonnie and I were bestos for years."

It's my turn to stare at Bonnie, and to my confusion she's blushing, biting her lip.

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"I can't imagine the two of you getting along."

"Oh, we did more than 'get along', honey."

"Jesus, Jenny, what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

There's silence, then another amused snort from Ethel. She really needs to sort out that annoying habit of hers.

"So you guys were like … together, together?"

"No way. We just fooled around a little bit. We were just kids."

"Way weird. Is she gay?"

"I don't know. We never really thought of it as gay. It was just practice for when we both got boyfriends. She got there faster than I did, though."

"Huh … so what's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"… Kissing a girl."

I hear Jenny laugh lightly, "Are you hitting on me?"

"Wha-no!"

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Shut up, Jenny!"

Their voices retreat gradually until I'm straining to hear the words, and eventually the door to the toilets clicks shut.

I hop off the water tank and land beside Bonnie silently.

"We need to leave, dude," I whisper, and watch as she nods.

* * *

Her expression is almost completely void of emotion as she drives. I'm tempted to ask about her and Jenny, but don't particularly want to open that can of worms. She seemed really upset after we overheard Jenny and Ethel bitching.

"How did you do on the rest of your exams, then?" I ask, attempting to draw a conversation out of her.

"A plus'," she replies in a monotone.

"Well done."

She grunts a 'thank you'. The car is almost heavy with the atmosphere she's creating and we ride in uncomfortable silence. I manage to bite my tongue until she pulls up outside my house.

"Okay, Bonnie. Enough. Snap the fuck out of it." I burst, throwing my hands up in a gesture of irritation.

She blinks at me owlishly, "_Excuse _me?"

"Quit bellyaching over it, already! You need to stop moping and move on. So you overheard Jenny and Ethel talking about you, so what? We already knew they were a couple of bints anyway. I say you put on a tight dress and some heels and come to the party. I could use someone to cheer for me in the crowd."

I feel my face growing hot as she stares at me, her features blank.

"What? It's true," I mumble, getting awkward in the silence.

"Maybe you're right."

"... See, sometimes I do make sen-"

"Maybe I should have a quick fuck with one of the other football players while I'm at it. Really show them all how I've moved on. And maybe I'll just tell them all I'm fucking you, too."

I stare at her, hurt, "Bonnie, I didn't mean it like-"

"You don't _get it_, _Marceline_!" She yells. "I thought everyone liked me, I thought I was popular, I thought I _wasn_'_t _lonely. I was _wrong_. They all loved _him_. And now he's with that stupid ginger _bitch_!"

"I thought you were almost over him!" I'm yelling now, too, not because I'm angry, but because she's got me on the defensive.

"Well I'm not, I still love him, okay?"

"But-but you're … we're, I mean, we've been sleeping together-"

"I told you I don't like you like _that_. It's just sex," she groans, and there's a lengthy pause before I ruin it.

"For _you _maybe," I sulk, glaring at the dashboard.

"For God's sake, Marceline, what do you want from me, here?"

"I want you to want me back, you stupid bitch," I snap.

Her eyes narrow dangerously, and I realize I've gone too far.

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Stupid bitch, am I?"

I squeak as she dives on me and hers lips crash against mine, our teeth bumping painfully. Her hands find mine as I flail, pinning me in place in my seat. Shock has taken over my system and I find myself opening my mouth, submissively tilting my head back to give her easier access. I don't really want to admit it, but her anger is kind of turning me on. I squirm beneath her, breathing hard as she breaks the kiss, a moan ripping its way out of my throat.

One of the hands pinning mine to the edge of the car seat detaches itself and I feel her fumble at my side for a moment.

"Shit!" I exclaim as suddenly the seat drops backwards and I find myself stretched out beneath a very pissed off Bonnibel.

"You want me to want you?" She asks in a heated whisper.

I can't answer, my throat sticks.

With an irritated grunt she grabs the collar of my shirt and yanks abruptly, tearing the flimsy material and causing that my breasts to spill out, my nipples hardening at the change of temperature.

"Bonnie! What the fu-oh-ohhhh," she interrupts me for, like, the millionth time, cutting me off with my own moan as she attacks me anew, her hands roughly kneading my newly freed breasts, pinching and twisting my nipples in a delectable agony.

She dips close to me and her tongue darts out, licking the curve of my ear.

"_Of course I want you_," she whispers, and I mewl, writhing under her.

I vaguely register a tapping noise as she scratches and bites and nips her way across my body, becoming quickly distracted as it grows steadily louder until I break, pushing Bonnie back so I can figure out where it's coming from.

It's only when she isn't obscuring my view with her hair and body that I realize Lupin is standing outside the car door, looking majorly freaked, tapping against the passenger seat window.

* * *

**Aaaaand I'm back with a cliff-hanger because that's how I roll.**

**Thanks again, folks. Ahh, it's good to be back!**

**R&R kids!**


	17. Problem Girl

**Hey, kiddies.**

**I do apologise for another irritatingly long absence since the last chapter. I've finished up one course in Uni and I'm starting a new one come September, so there was an absolute shitload of paperwork for me to get through to straighten everything out. Cheers so much for being patient and sticking with the story. It's nowhere near finished - so no fear. There'll be plenty of SFG to come.**

**Thank you for all the reviews (over two-fucking-hundred!) both private and public, the favourites and the follows. I really, really appreciate it.**

**The usual warnings that go on my stuff, I own nothing apart from interpretations. I make no money from this at all.**

**M for drug use (heavy in this chapter), sex, swearing and alcohol consumption.**

* * *

Chapter 15: Problem Girl

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Lupin mouths through the car window as I clasp my hands over my bare breasts, blood rushing steadily to my face, making me feel woozy.

Bonnie is taking a different approach - instead of going red, she's turning an odd shade of green. I have a sneaking suspicion she's holding down vomit by sheer willpower alone.

It feels as though someone has frozen us in time. We stare at each other without moving for a full minute and a half, unsure of what we should be doing in this situation, of what the protocol should be. It's finally Lupin who makes the first move, removing the jacket he's wearing over his t-shirt and wrenching the car door open.

"Cover yourself up, Marceline," he says, chucking it at me, and I notice that he looks uncharacteristically angry.

Putting the jacket on with Bonnibel sitting on me is especially difficult, so she climbs out of the car with as much elegance and dignity as she can muster, while I put the seat back in its upright position.

I clamber out awkwardly after her and am shocked to see my neighbour, Mrs Spruce standing watching us with an extremely suspicious expression plastered across her face.

"Can I help you?" I snap at her, temper gone past breaking point.

She makes an irritated noise in the back of her throat and turns away, going back to pruning her begonias.

Lupin and Bonnie are glaring at each other without speaking when I turn around.

I clear my throat to draw their attention. It doesn't work. "Uh … maybe we should go in," I try and Lupin looks at me, hard.

"Fine."

After unlocking the front door I skit to the ironing basket to grab a new t-shirt which is in one piece. "Here," I say, handing Lupin back his shirt without actually meeting his gaze. He takes it without speaking and the silence mounts around us.

The three of us stand in my living room, unspeaking until my dad pops his head in the doorway.

"Heya, kids. Marcy, you haven't seen my red tie, have you? I've got a meeting at 6. Big client. It's the one that goes best with my good su-"

I interrupt when I realize he's going to ramble, "It's on the drying rack. Can you give us a minute, please?"

He must recognize the strain in my voice because he doesn't comment on my rudeness, and nods instead, shooting me a questioning look as he retreats.

"Are we going to talk about what just happened or are we pretending that the last five minutes didn't occur?" Bonnie snaps at us, her face regaining its colour.

I slump back against the couch, wondering why I haven't passed out from embarrassment.

"What the fuck were you two thinking?" Lupin directs at Bonnie with more than a hint of disgust.

Bonnie swells indignantly, "And what does that mean? You never seemed bothered by us making out in front of you. You can't possibly say that what you saw bothered you - I never pegged you for a homophobe."

I stick my face in my hands, wishing the ground would swallow me up.

"I'm not talking about you fucking, you dobber," Lupin spits and suddenly his expression becomes exasperated. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you don't have sex in a parked car in broad daylight. In the middle of suburbia. Especially when the car is _bright fucking pink_."

"Stop swearing," I snap, removing my face from my palms. "Seriously, my dad's only upstairs. And keep your voice down."

With a roll of his eyes, Lupin falls back into the armchair behind him, crossing his arms sullenly.

"Okay. So you saw us. What now?" Bonnie asks, leaning against the fireplace, regarding Lupin with a mixture of distrust and what appears to be apprehension.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's why you're squinting at me," he growls up at her.

"Thank you," I interject when Bonnie stays stubbornly silent.

Lupin looks at me for the first time since we got out of the car and I blush anew.

His expression softens. "You're welcome."

"Why are you here, Lupin?" Bonnie asks, looking even more irritated (though I was unaware that was possible until now) than she did a minute ago.

"I came to tell Marceline I got us a gig," he says coldly, turning back to Bonnie. "Not that that's any of _your _business."

"I know, LSP's party, right?" I interrupt, to stop Bonnie from flying off the handle.

It works, as Lupin raises his eyebrows at me, thoroughly distracted, "How did you know that? I only confirmed it this morning, I haven't even told Keila yet."

If I could literally kick myself without looking like a crazy person I would - but I can't, so I settle for doing it mentally instead. I _shouldn't _know about our gig. I wasn't supposed to hear Jenny and Ethel talking about it. Bonnie glances at me, highly alarmed.

"I-I overheard LSP talking about it to Brad. It's kind of hard _not _to overhear anything she says, y'know?" I shrug, inwardly relieved as he nods knowingly, obviously buying my lie.

"Was there anything else?" Bonnie asks coldly, looking as relieved as I feel.

"I came over to ask if Marceline was available to practice tonight," Lupin says loudly, clearly getting riled.

Just as I'm about to tell him I can come out after eight, Bonnie cuts me off.

"Not tonight."

We both stare at her blankly until Lupin gapes at me, as though to say, _are you going to let her make decisions for you?_

When I don't reply he says, "We have five days 'til the gig. We need to practice."

"Not tonight," Bonnie repeats, eyes narrowed dangerously, a steely edge in her voice, now. "Marceline and I need to talk."

I rub the back of my head awkwardly, not really sure why I'm not telling Bonnie to shut the fuck up.

Lupin lets out an unbelieving laugh, glancing between Bonnie and me.

"I never pegged you for being pussy-whipped, Marceline. That's … that's really messed up. I'll text you later," he says as he stands, making a gesture of surrender as he leaves.

Bonnie and I remain in silence until the sound of the front door shutting makes me jump.

We have some things to discuss clearly, as Bonnie turns her acidic glare on me.

* * *

Deciding that this was not the kind of conversation that my dad should overhear, I lead Bonnie up to my bedroom, unable to keep from feeling guilty. For what, though, I'm unsure.

"He's not going to keep quiet about this."

I sigh, taking a seat at my desk and swivelling around to face her. "Yeah, he will, Bonnie. I'll make sure he does."

"You better," she says threateningly, sitting opposite me on the bed.

My already frayed temper snaps and I point at her angrily as I shout, "Cut that out, Bonnibel. First you start screaming at me in the car, then you nearly fucking rape me, and now you're making decisions for me and _threatening me_? I didn't sign up for an abusive relationship, honey, I only wanted a tutor."

"_Rape you?_" she counters, her face flushing with either embarrassment at the summation of her behaviour or sheer rage. "You were _moaning_. You were dripping wet. You can't say you didn't want me."

"Bonnie, think about what that'd have been like if I did it to you-"

"I wouldn't-"

"Let me finish!" I bark. "Imagine if the roles were reversed. Then imagine if I was a guy. It felt scary, Bonnie."

"I-I …" she stutters, apparently lost for words. Her expression is suddenly less harsh, and she looks as though someone has switched a light on in a very dark room. As though everything has suddenly become visible and she doesn't like what she sees.

"I'm not saying I wasn't turned on," I admit. "But I don't want to have angry sex with you. I don't want us to be angry at each other at all."

Despite the fact that she is so _obviously _in the wrong, Bonnie sniffs stubbornly, "Either way, we _are _angry at each other."

"_Why _are we angry?" I question, honestly confused. I'm upset with the way that she's acting towards me, but I don't understand why's _she's _angry with _me. _

"Because you are still trying to get us to be in a relationship even though I told you that's not what I want."

"But Bonnie-"

"No, Marceline! No 'but's. I'm not going out with you. No one can know about this-this," she gestures violently as she struggles to define our relationship by the regular standards. "Whatever this is!" she finishes lamely.

I stare at her, flabbergasted.

"Can you even hear yourself? Can't you hear how selfish you're being?"

"How am I being selfish?"

I snort, though I'm clearly far from amused. "You're willing to have sex with me but I'm not allowed to talk about the fact that it clearly means more to me than it does to you?"

"Oh, we can talk about it. But we're not acting on it. I don't want a relationship with a girl, I still love Finn."

"Well, he doesn't love you," I snap.

I realize it's too harsh as soon as the words leave my mouth. Her lower lip trembles as she speaks, but her voice is hard as iron.

"I'm aware of that, thank you. I don't think we should do this anymore, Marceline."

"What?"

"I think we should stop this-this friends-with-benefits thing, now. I don't think anything good's going to come of it."

It's like being punched in the stomach.

"Are you breaking up with me?" I wince at how feeble my voice sounds.

"How can you break up with someone you aren't dating?" she asks me coldly and it's too much. Tears are overflowing before I can stop them, and my shoulders begin to shudder with suppressed sobs.

Without saying anything, Bonnie stands up, rummages in her handbag for something, throws it at my feet and leaves.

After a few minutes I regain my control and peer down between my Converse. It's one of my past papers for Maths. It's been graded in red ink and a large, circled 'A' resides in the top right corner. It means I no longer need a tutor. It means that I don't have _any_ excuse to be with Bonnie, now.

It's just as well that Bonnie's already walked out, because now I can no longer muffle my sobs.

* * *

After phoning Lupin and explaining the situation; that I can make it to rehearsal and that Bonnie has been suitably punished for thinking she could decide how I spend my time (a total lie, but he doesn't need to know that) I spend the rest of the evening feeling pretty goddamn awful until it's time to leave.

Seeing as it's Keila's house we're rehearsing in, Bruno offers to pick me up, as it's further than walking distance for him and I'm on his route there.

I'm glad to see his battered pick-up pulling into my drive at eight, and I practically run from the house, desperate for the distraction.

"Hey, dude," he says as I jump in, putting on my seatbelt. "You're wearing make-up. That's unusual."

The comment is appreciative more than anything else, but I can't help but feel paranoid that he knows something. The truth is, I slapped on some foundation and eyeliner to distract from my blotchy cheeks and puffy eyes.

"Oh, I just felt like a change," I say evasively, looking out the window as he pulls out of my street.

The journey takes a good twenty minutes, so I roll a couple of joints to keep my hands busy, using almost half of the stash of weed Bongo has hidden in his glove compartment.

"Jesus, that was a half cue, Marce," he says. "Lupin's not going to be pleased if we're all too stoned to play tonight. He wants this gig to go well; it's our first in _ages_. Plus we're getting paid for this one."

I shrug, "We can practice _then _blaze if he wants. I just wanna get high."

Bongo shoots me a glance from the side of his eye while we turn into Keila's estate. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Really."

Practice was strained and slow going. Between me being unusually quiet, Lupin being extra narky and Bongo trying to compensate for these two factors by acting like a loon, all of us were getting increasingly frustrated. The music itself seemed slick enough, though, so after midnight, Lupin was satisfied enough to leave without swearing at anyone at all. He did take me aside to ask if everything was okay with me and Bonnie and I was forced to confirm the negative. If anything, he looked pleased by this and left in an irritatingly jovial mood.

Due to the fact that he was working the next day, Bongo said he had to shoot and turned down the joint I offered him if he called in sick instead.

"You've been really quiet tonight," Keila says, stroking my arm with her free fingertips, the others occupied with keeping her blunt steady.

I sigh and sit back against the headboard of her bed. "Just tired," I lie.

"It's Bonnibel, isn't it?"

Too stoned to keep up any sort of façade, I nod, "Yeah, alright. How'd you know?"

"You've been mooning after her for ages, honey. It's sort of hard not to notice."

"Fuck."

"What happened?"

Without entirely knowing the reason why, I tell Keila everything, right from the very beginning, up to and including my part in Finn and Bonnie's relationship. She listens intently throughout, only stopping me to ask questions or clarify a point I've made.

"What do you think I should do?" I ask desperately, searching her dark brown eyes for the answer.

"What _can _you do, honey?" she replies, putting a hand on my knee.

The answer hangs between us, suspended in the air like a cloud of poisonous gas.

_Nothing._

There's nothing I can do.

"Would it be taking advantage of you if I kissed you just now?" she asks, half serious, half playful attempt at humour.

"Yes. But right now I'm okay with tha-mmmf," she cuts me off with a firm kiss and suddenly I'm being pushed back, onto the pillows.

* * *

It's quarter to seven in the morning by the time I arrive back at my house. I spent the night before at Keila's, letting her cheer me up as much as she could. It sort of worked. I mean, my body feels stiff in the best way possible, and I'm pretty sure the warm patch on my neck is a hickey, but I'm drained. And I feel empty inside.

All I really want after a two hour walk is to have a bath and go to bed, but I have class this morning. So I settle for a quick shower and a change of clothes. I'm sitting at the brunch bar when my dad comes into the kitchen, a piece of toast between his teeth and a coffee clutched in one hand.

"Where were you last night? And what was all the shouting about before you left?" he asks through a mouthful of jam, perching opposite me against the sink.

I glance at him over my bowl of cereal, wondering whether I should tell him the truth or not. "Lupin caught me and Bonnie macking in her car, he got pissed off, Bonnie got pissed off and then Bonnie broke up with me. I was at Keila's rehearsing last night after it all happened and decided to stay," I summarise, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"I see," he says. He looks more drawn than usual, his hair greyer around the temples, his mouth and forehead more lined. "Are you okay?"

"I guess. Are _you _okay?"

"Not really, my meeting didn't go well last night. I may lose my position in the company over it."

I almost drop my spoon as it's halfway to my mouth. "You _what_?"

"It's the recession. It's affecting everything. It'll be fine if I put in the work. But I'm going to be very, very busy for the next few months, I think." His mouth sets in a hard line but his eyes are worried.

"Christ," I say. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Just stay out of trouble, make sure you're eating and don't give me anything else to worry about if you can help it." I scowl at this. "Do you need a lift to school?"

"Sure, as long as you don't think I'll accidentally set your car on fire or something."

* * *

Bonnie avoids me for the rest of the week, barely glancing my way when we pass each other in the halls, or in the canteen. I attempt to be indifferent to this treatment but Keila can obviously tell I'm upset because she offers to come and rescue me from maths in the afternoon before the party. I turn her offer down only to regret it later when Mr Canis corners me with the congratulation that, 'Bonnibel has deemed her position as my tutor redundant, now that I've passed my prelims and secured an A'.

Even worse than this, LSP manages to get me alone long enough to tell me she wants us to cover "I Kissed A Girl" at her party tomorrow.

"I mean, it's like, so ironic and everything because it's, like … you, y'know?" she drawls in her irritatingly manly voice.

If there is one person at Adventure High that I'd happily never converse with if I could help it, it would be LSP. Louise Sarah Platt, one of the most popular – actually, make that _infamous_ – girls in school, is probably the biggest gossip in Ooo. She seems to have a talent for finding out the little things that you don't want to talk about and then exploiting them for her own amusement. Usually in front of her friends, too.

I glance down at the buxom little bitch and attempt to smile, "Sure, Louise. As long as you're paying me I'll do whatever you want."

"That sounds about right, coming from you," she smirks slyly and I feel a surge of anger shoot through me so powerful it renders me speechless. "I heard that at Manny's party last month you gave Shelby a BJ for a twenty. Of course, that could just be a rumour …" she trails off, inspecting her long red nails with false innocence.

"That's bullshit!" I snap. "The only person giving Shelby a blowjob around this place is Manny!"

An evil glint in her eye confirms that I've been played and I blanch as she clenches her fist in joy, "I _knew _it! I knew there was something going on between them. They were in that bathroom for _hours_ together!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I can't deal with this right now. I'll see you tomorrow," I groan, turning tail and bolting.

* * *

The next few rehearsals passes in a blur of key changes and it seems that time skips uncomfortably until I find myself in the back of Bongo's Chevy, clutching my axe-bass in a single, white-knuckled fist. Keila's riding up front with Bongo, her Les Paul perched on her lap while Lupin is sitting on a snare drum next to me in the back, his keyboard case propped in front of us. We look the part of a rock band, right enough; no one could possibly dispute that. It's evident that we've all made an effort for once: Keila with her short leather skirt and thigh-high boots, Bongo in a shirt and waistcoat, me in my spike heels and my hair pulled into a Forties pin-up do. Lupin outperformed us all, though. He dressed all in black, shaved for once and slicked his hair. Whatever he put used to do it made it look darker than usual and in the streetlights passing it looks glossy and immaculate. I also never really noticed how sharp all his features were before now, either. Without his shaggy fringe hiding half his face I can see his defined cheekbones and his long pointed nose. He looks severe and intimidating, not at all like his usual self.

"You nervous, baby? You're really white," he squints at me, and I realize he's wearing eyeliner.

I snort, avoiding the question, "You should give me make-up tips, Lupin, you've done a great job."

He rolls his eyes at me and for the first time I notice that they're grey, like Bonnie's. I cast the though from my head.

"We're putting on a show," he says, gesturing at his face. "This is all part of the performance."

I say nothing and pluck a few noiseless notes on my bass.

"Yes," I admit.

Lupin looks confused, "What?"

"Yes, I'm nervous."

He grins at me and pats the top pocket of his leather jacket, "Don't worry. I've got the perfect cure."

Before I have a chance to question this, the car slows to a stop and I realize that we're here. It's show time.

* * *

While LSP may not be the most pleasant human being in Ooo (or on the planet), she does happen to be in possession of a _seriously _nice house. It's huge, for one thing, a good four floors, with large gardens surrounding the house on either side. It also appears to be in the middle of nowhere as there doesn't seem to be any neighbouring houses in the area whatsoever. Which in my opinion is the best part – no pissed off neighbours calling the cops on us if we get too loud. By the time we lug the instruments from Bongo's car and make it down the cobbled path to her front door, a group of people lean out the French bay windows to greet us, each clutching a red solo cup.

I spot Ethel and give her a quick salute when she waves drunkenly at me, holding onto the arm of what I can only guess is a freshman, giving how freaked out he looks and his lack of glass, cup or bottle.

"MARCELINE'S HERE," I hear her scream to whoever is in the house, and I shrug at Keila with bemusement.

Soon enough, more people are crowding around the window and spilling out of the front door to greet us. Manny jogs over to us with a grin, his letterman jacket tied around his waist, his long, shaggy hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Need a hand carrying the gear?" he asks Lupin, who nods, face red under the strain of trying to carry a 88 weighted key keyboard alone. "I always wanted to be a roadie," he snorts, making his septum piercing glint gently.

Thanks to Manny we manage to make it inside without damaging anything (or anyone) in the process and LSP points us to a space in the lounge where she's set up a bunch of decking, large enough for us to set up on.

Just as we're plugging everything in and doing a sound check I become suddenly aware of how fast my heart is beating. It's been a long time since I've performed live in front of a crowd. In fact, it was almost two years ago. The realization of this makes sweat break out across my palms.

"Do any of you have any Rescue Remedy?" I ask the rest of the band.

The look at each other in confusion until Bongo asks, "What's that?"

"Oh, never mind. It's a British thing."

"I have something better," Lupin sing-songs and I turn around to see him waving a small bag of white powder at me.

"Fancy a line before we start this shit?" he grins in a mock-English accent.

* * *

"I'll take some of that if you're just giving it away."

The four of us turn to see Jenny, thick red hair pulled into an elegant bun, leaning against the doorframe, saluting Lupin with a bottle of beer.

"Well, I … er …" Lupin trails off, hastily stuffing the little pouch back into his pocket.

"Sure," I interrupt. "We can do it in the bathroom. Better be quick though, I saw Louise shooting us daggers a minute ago, we need to start playing soon." Lupin and Bongo are looking at me like I've lost my mind, but Keila is studying me silently.

"There's a toilet through there," Jenny smirks, gesturing towards the kitchen and we follow her, Bongo and Lupin trailing reluctantly.

It's cramped in a toilet (no matter how spacious) with five of us stuffed in there, so I let Keila sit on my knee while Lupin sets up five lines of the powder.

"Are you sure this stuff is legit?" Keila asks, glancing at Lupin doubtfully. "I don't want to end up puking my guts up halfway through the set."

"It's fine. Ladies first."

Since none of us have been paid yet, Lupin offers Jenny a bendy straw rather than a dollar. She laughs at this and takes a moment to remove a five dollar bill from her bra. After rolling it and snorting, she passes the bill to Lupin, who in turn passes it to me when he's taken his line.

I haven't done coke for a while either, so after the initial burn at the back of my nose the effects hit me almost instantaneously. It feels like someone has electrocuted me, like every nerve in my body is alight with energy. I feel like I could run a mile without losing my breath. I grin at Lupin who looks like he's feeling equally euphoric, while Bongo takes the last line.

We all take turns making sure there isn't any tell-tale white on our noses in the mirror and make our way out of the bathroom.

"What were you all doing in there?"

It's Finn, wearing a blue shirt and looking every bit as tall and tanned and blonde as ever.

"Having an orgy. Jealous?" Jenny purrs and puts a hand on his muscular forearm.

He rolls his eyes and juts his chin at me, "You alright, Marcy? Not seen you in a while." There's a guilty flush colouring his cheeks, but other than that, you'd never know that the last time we were in the same room together him and Bonnie were fucking like rabbits.

"It's Marceline," I reply darkly and he shuts up. Before I can say anything else, Lupin is ushering me back to the lounge with a strong hand, murmuring that we should open with A Song About A Fisherman.

Fourteen songs in, I'm screaming that I kissed a girl and liked it at the top of my lungs into a well-placed mike. It seems that most people have piled into the lounge, and it's just as well that the band are on a make-shift platform, because people are pressed right up against the barrier created by the decking that we're playing on. It turns out that a rock version of I Kissed A Girl was a stroke of genius on LSP's part. As soon as Keila came in with the intro, there was a shower of laughter and cheering. And Keila and Lupin's backing vocals work extremely well, especially during the breakdown. People are dancing and grinding and cheering even as the last few chords are getting played.

"_And I liked i-t!_" I laugh, feeling alive and amazing and so _powerful_. I'm just turning to Lupin to see what the next song is when I spot her in the crowd.

Dressed in a short white skirt, strawberry blonde hair loose around her shoulders, gold earrings and bracelets glittering in the low-lights, Bonnibel makes her way through the dancers and couples, stopping at the very back of the room. A stab of pain shoots through my chest and a second later - a dull throb of desire when I spot how long and tanned her legs look.

"I'd like to dedicate this next song to the smartest girl in school," I say before I can stop myself. From the corner of my eye I see Keila shooting me a panicked look, but I ignore her.

I pick up the half-full beer can at my feet and hold it up, over the crowd and silently toast Bonnibel. I can see her blushing from here, even in the dim. A few people are following my gaze to the back of the room trying to see who I'm referring to; others are talking behind their hands, obviously having worked it out. Most people are still cheering, though, happily unaware or too drunk to give a fuck.

"I'm Just Your Problem," I say to Lupin and although he doesn't look happy, he doesn't argue, and I swallow a mouthful of beer as he plays the first few chords.

"_Sorry I don't treat you like a goddess,_

_Is that what you want me to do?_

_Sorry I don't treat you like you're perfect,_

_Like all your little loyal subjects do, _

_Sorry I'm not made of sugar,_

_Am I not sweet enough for you?_

_Is that why you always avoid me?_

_That must be such an inconvenience to you,_

_Well... I'm just your problem,_

_I'm just your problem,_

_It's like I'm not, even a person, am I?_

_I'm just your problem_

_Well, I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to justify what I do_

_I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to prove anything to you_

_I'm sorry that I exist,_

_I forgot what landed me on your blacklist._

_But I-I-I-I-I-I-I shouldn't have to be the one that makes up with you,_

_So... why do I want to?_

_Why do I want to..._"

I see her move through the crowd to try to get nearer to me, but she's stopped by Finn. I can't hear what they're saying over the noise of the amps, but I can see Bonnie gesturing at me, and looking upset and angry. Finn appears to be attempting to calm her down, and he's talking very fast. I sing the next two verses of the song while keeping my attention on them alone until I notice Jenny, sipping on a beer and surveying her boyfriend. She barely reacts when Finn leads Bonnie towards the kitchen.

The song finishes and people are shouting requests. I turn back to look at Lupin and Co. but none of them look happy. Bongo appears confused, but Keila and Lupin seem disappointed.

"What?" I ask indignantly.

"You know you just sent her running into his arms, right?" Keila points out.

I look back out at the crowd and realize Finn and Bonnie have disappeared and Jenny is watching me intently.

Without pausing to think, I choose instead to ignore the issue I may have just created and pull my mike closer.

"Scream if you wanna hear more!" I bellow and the noise level increases so abruptly that I'm convinced half the crowd are going to be suffering from Laryngitis before the end of the night.

* * *

**Okay, this is really only a half-chapter but it was getting _really _long. So you'll just have to stay tuned to find out what happens at LSP's party after the band finish playing!**

**R&R if you love me and even if you don't, R&R anyway.**


	18. Mistakes

**Wussup, chaps?**

**Another big thank you for all the reviews, pm's, follows, faves and the rest. Means the world to me.**

**If you do happen to leave a review after this chapter, let me know what you thought of _Sky Witch_. I want to know how other supporters of the couple reacted to it out of sheer curiosity more than anything.**

**Rated M for sex, drugs, and this time around quite a bit of drama and angst.**

* * *

Chapter 16: Mistakes

It didn't take more than thirty seconds for someone to come up to me, offering me a fresh drink after our set finished at midnight. Now, at around three in the morning, I've lost count of how many 'fresh drinks' I've had but I can feel the alcohol mixing with the coke, slowing me down, making the walls rock alarmingly and the floor slip beneath my feet.

I'm not really too sure where Bonnie went after she disappeared with Finn. He came back alone after a few songs but Bonnie was nowhere to be seen. Not that I care. I have plenty of friends, plenty of admirers; plenty of people willing to do whatever I want them to, just so they can say they were close to me. Like this cute blonde chick who's kissing up the inside of my thigh.

I take a drag of my cigarette as she finally finds my centre, dragging her tongue tentatively up the length of my opening.

This tends to happen at parties, I always seem to find myself up against some damp wall, skirt hiked around my waist, with someone groping me in the dark. I guess it's because it satisfies the hormones and the longing to be close to someone for an hour or two.

"C'mon, Clare," I grunt and grab a fistful of her blonde curls and force her head forward roughly as she lets out a muffled squeak, her mouth warm and wet between my legs.

It's only after a moment of her inaudible grunting that I realize she's trying to speak and I release her hair, letting her breathe in the damp, early morning air.

"My name isn't Clare," she gasps, her face flushed in the semi-darkness. "It's Carrie."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, whatever, just get on with it."

She seems furiously indignant until I stroke her face with my cigarette-free hand and she returns to her task without another word, her pale eyebrows knitted together.

* * *

It's a while before I return from LSP's garden, Clare/Carrie left behind with the rest of the couples fumbling in the dark, although I notice that the majority of the people left inside are wrapped around one another, much like those in the garden. Some of the pairings amuse me as I step over their entwined forms on the living room floor to get to the kitchen: Lupin has his hands under the shirt of some tall, dark girl with impossibly straight black hair, Manny and Shelby are necking on the couch, Keila is passed out next to them, her drink spilling onto the carpet the more she slumps. The living room seems to be the most highly populated after the garden, I note as there are very few people still conscious left in the hallway and only one person in the kitchen, other than that, downstairs is seemingly deserted.

"I thought you went home," the person says to me and I realize with a start that it's Jenny. She's sitting on the bar, eating what appears to be a bowl of instant noodles.

I say nothing but raise a questioning eyebrow at the food.

"I was hungry," she shrugs and takes another unnecessarily vicious bite as though to prove her point. "Plus, Louise is passed out in the bathtub. I doubt she's going to miss them."

Despite the fact that her make-up is smudged and her red hair is spilling out of its once elegant bun, I can't help but notice how _hot _she looks. The shoulder straps of her dress have fallen down and I can see light gold freckles across her chest and collarbone, along the tops of her arms. She must notice me checking her out because she raises a dark red eyebrow and crosses her long, bare legs.

She looks somewhat startled, "I'm with Finn."

I snort my amusement at her prudish expression. "So was Bonnie," I smirk at her and move towards her, grabbing a bottle from the bar as I go. She makes a noise of protest as though she expects me to jump on her, but I simply hop onto the bar beside her, swigging on the bottle as I do so. Whiskey. Blech.

A genial silence springs up, broken only by the sound of her chewing, my whiskey drinking and some anonymous Casanova of indeterminable gender who keeps moaning in ecstasy, issuing from one of the bedrooms upstairs.

"What does that mean, 'so was Bonnie?'" Jenny asks after a while, setting down her empty bowl and fork, apparently having satisfied her drunken need for sustenance.

I swallow a mouthful of alcohol before answering, wondering if it was wise to make that comment at all. Most likely not, now that I think about it. _But I'm drunk_, a part of me reasons and I sigh heavily. I've dug my own grave, clearly. Might as well have some fun before I lie down in it.

"That depends," I say evasively and turn to grin at her.

She looks wary, as though expecting me to try to kiss her or something, "On what?"

With my best impression of innocence, I smile, "If you'll answer a few questions I have. Honestly."

This takes her by surprise, I can tell by the way her expression shifts from wariness to sheer suspicion in the blink of an eye.

"What kind of questions?"

I swivel around on the bar and procure two discarded shot glasses from a stack of used dishes. "Well, why don't we try this," I say as I pour two shots of whiskey and prod one of them towards Jenny. "You answer my question, we take a shot, I'll answer your question, we take another, and we both keep asking questions and taking shots until either our curiosity is satisfied or one of us has passed out." I hold up my glass to her and grin, "How's that?"

"Why did it have to turn into a drinking game?" Jenny grumbles, though I notice that she has lifted her own shot glass, holding delicately between an elongated finger and thumb.

"Because it's hard to lie when you're wrecked. Me first-"

"I asked _you _first!"

"My game, my rules. How long have you known Bonnibel?"

This takes her off her guard, I'm almost certain she thought I was going to ask her something sexual. She hesitates briefly before answering, "Sixteen years." We drink silently and I nod. "What did you mean, 'so was Bonnie?'" her voice sounds raspy due to the whiskey, but the curiosity is palpable in her tone.

"I meant that Bonnie being with Finn never stopped her hooking up with me." I don't look at her as I speak, simply refilling our now empty glasses. When I look up at her again she's staring at me in shock.

A shot later I ask, "When did you and Bonnie first have sex?"

Her face pales so dramatically that for a brief second I wonder if she's going to vomit or pass out – or both. "H-how … I mean, I … that's …" she trails off, looking angry and embarrassed. I say nothing, trying to focus on her with difficulty thanks to the alcohol in my bloodstream.

"How did you know about-about that?" she asks finally.

"It's my turn, honey. We haven't done the shot yet."

She scowls at me, knowing that if she doesn't answer first, she'll never find out how I knew about her and Bonnie. I smile lazily at her, fishing in my bra for my cigarettes while I wait.

"We were fifteen," she grits out, holding out her empty glass for refilling.

I light my cigarette as she clumsily does her shot in three - clearly drunker than she was at the start of our conversation. "How did you know about that?" she repeats stiffly, and I blow a smoke ring at her mockingly.

"I overheard you making a comment to Ethel about how you and Bonnie were 'more than just friends'. Next time you start gossiping in a public toilet, check beneath the doors for feet." I pour us another set as she grits her teeth at me, obviously inwardly berating herself for her stupidity.

"What was it like?" I ask, exhaling a cloud of toxic smoke into the already stuffy kitchen. "Your first time with her," I clarify at her confused expression.

"I'm not answering that."

I raise an eyebrow at the girl next to me, "Why not?"

"It's personal."

"So?"

My utter lack of empathy seems to infuriate her, but I flash her my most winning smile, "If you tell me about it, I won't tell anybody about you fucking Princess."

"That's blackmail," her voice is cold and crisp despite the fact that she sways in her seat on the bar.

"Yes, it is," I agree.

With a sigh that seems to wrench itself from her chest, Jenny shoots me a disgruntled look before staring at the wall opposite us, addressing it solely, "We were fifteen. We were stupid and full of hormones and high on the idea of sex like every other kid at that age. Of course, both of us were virgins, but we'd both kissed boys at parties … and each other, just to see what it would be like, to practice." She blinks rapidly, and suddenly speaks very quickly, as though the faster she says it, the less true it will be. "I initiated it. I'd heard Louise talking about how sex was supposed to feel amazing for boys and hurt for girls, but it only hurt if the girl was a virgin. Well, I didn't want to end up crying and bleeding on some guy that I was having sex with, so I convinced Bonnie it would be a good idea to … y'know."

"That's some pretty fucked up logic, Jenny," I say pleasantly.

"Fuck off, I told you, I was stupid and innocent when I was that age, I'm sure you were too."

"By the time I was fifteen I'd slept with half the guys in my year and almost all of them in the year above me."

This admission distracts Jenny enough from her tale that she rips her gaze from the wall opposite and goggles at me.

"Seriously?"

"Mm hm. Now, you were young, you were stupid, please continue," I take a draw of my cigarette, waving my free hand for her to proceed.

Disgruntled but too drunk to argue, Jenny says, "Well, that's pretty much it. I convinced her we should have sex, we did. What more do you want?"

"I was actually wondering what it was _like_. How it went. Who did what," I can't help but give her an undoubtedly sleazy grin.

"What the hell do you want to know that for?" A dull flush has begun creeping up her neck and I can tell it's because I'm freaking her out, now.

"Because I want to know as much as I can about her past, so I can hurt her like she hurt me."

There is an incredibly awkward silence that follows this statement, and I turn to regard Jenny in the light of the sunrise, illuminating the room through the broken kitchen window, the shards of broken glass speckling the counter and floor are bright white in the glare. She looks positively terrified of me.

"Th-that's fucking insane," she stammers, the drinking game forgotten clearly as she slides clumsily from the bar to her unsteady feet.

I shrug, "_Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_ and all that."

Without speaking, I stub my cigarette out on the bar top, and hop down, only slightly more steady on my feet than Jenny. I realize for the first time that unlike Bonnibel, who is as tall as me, Jenny is smaller by a good four inches. Her expression has remained aghast at my confession of revenge.

"Where's Finn?" I ask, studying her.

"He went home hours ago."

I subtly step closer to her, "Why were you staring at me tonight during the set?"

"I was wondering why you were being cruel to Bonnibel and even more about why you were enjoying it," she has instinctively stepped backwards, retreating as I corner her against the nearest wall, her expression shifting from shocked to wary again.

"Have you fucked another girl since Bonnie?" I breathe, and I'm closer to her than I've been yet, mere inches separating our bodies. I murmur this last question against the skin of her exposed neck and watch as gooseflesh erupts in the wake of my lips. Her hands are fidgeting against her sides and I notice with pleasure that her nipples are clearly visible through the sheer fabric of her dress: she's undeniably aroused.

"No." It's a rather strong denial, given that her breathing is shallow and her chest is heaving. One of my hands leaves the wall behind her and skims the side of her arm, her neck, her face, cradles the back of her head.

"I can fix that," I murmur, and pull her in for a deep, satisfying kiss. Satisfying because Jenny's hands flutter at her sides for a mere second before burying themselves in the vast expanse of my hair, and satisfying because _this _is how I can hurt Bonnie. The plan formulates in my mind even as Jenny pants in my ear that the sun is up and we should go somewhere better concealed from view.

* * *

I'm lying on my stomach in the back of Bongo's Chevy with one of his two tartan blankets draped over my naked lower half while the other is wrapped around Jenny. After realizing there were going to be no safe hiding spots inside the house what with people passed out in every room, I stole Bongo's keys from his jacket pocket which was hanging over the bannister in the hallway and we headed back to the car to continue where we left off.

I'll admit that it started off as one of the strangest sexual encounters I've ever had, and I've experienced some pretty fucking odd ones. She seemed raring to go until I stopped to nick Bongo's keys. It seems that the lapse in attention gave her enough time to question whether having sex with me was a good idea or not.

I managed to sway her 'round in the end though …

"_C'mon, baby," I croon, Bongo's keys dangling from my index finger, my free hand trailing up the length of her thigh. "Finn won't mind."_

"_B-but, I'm not even into girls, this is kinda weird, Marceline, I don't know …" she seems genuine in her intent to back out so I lean in close to her, pressing her into the wall, putting my thigh between her legs for effect and to keep her upright._

_I cup her waist in my free hand, the other against the wall and kiss the sharpest point of her jaw before burying my nose in the crook behind her ear. "You smell so, so good," I whisper on an inward breath. She does. Different from Bonnie, who smells sweet and light; Jenny smells dark, dangerous and undeniably seductive. Like blood mixed with chocolate. _

"_I'm not gay," she says superfluously. _

"_That's fine," I mutter hazily, the hand on her waist moving to her stomach. Her stomach isn't as flat or toned as Bonnie's. But it's soft and feminine and I rub her belly-button with my thumb absent-mindedly. She seems to like this and I feel her lift her pelvis towards me, grinding against my thigh. I slow the circular movement of my thumb, add more force and lick the length of her jugular, feeling her pulse race beneath the flat of my tongue. From the needy moan that rips from her and the sudden rush of moisture against my thigh you'd think I was licking her out. Looks like I just found a major sweet spot. _Mental note to self: Jenny has a seriously sensitive belly button.

"_Come out to the car, Jenny," I whisper to her and kiss her slowly, and it's nothing more than my lips on hers, firm and insistent. _

_We're halfway to the door when she says, "But Finn …"_

"_Don't worry, I'll give him some tips after I'm done with you."_

…

She's asleep or unconscious, now though. I'm not entirely sure which and too tired to check. It must be something to five in the morning by now, a mother-of-pearl sky visible through the back windows of the pick-up doors. Despite the exhaustion of my body, I can't turn off my mind. Bonnie disappeared last night and avoided my wrath, but she won't escape a second time. I'll make sure of it.

The thought of Bonnie brings back the fact that throughout the sex, I couldn't help comparing Jenny to her. Jenny tasted like whiskey and noodles, Bonnie always tasted like spearmint or bubble-gum. The crazy health freak won't chew anything apart from sugar-free but she's addicted to the stuff; never leaves the house without a pack in her pocket. Bonnie's pubic hair was light blonde and trimmed, Jenny was a waxer. (I checked though, apparently the carpet matches the curtains in terms of her gingerness.) Bonnie groaned when she came, Jenny made a light, inward gasp, accompanied by clenched-shut eyes. That was something about Bonnie I loved; her eyes always found mine when she reached her climax.

I wonder to myself if Finn did this, too, the night he fucked Jenny while his girlfriend fucked me. I wonder to myself if I really care.

* * *

At four in the afternoon I make it back to my own house, my head throbbing from dehydration, my throat raw from vomiting violently for a good twenty minutes on the way back. All I want is to sleep. To shake off the feeling that I did something terrible last night, although I'm not entirely sure of certain parts as I blacked out more than once. I vaguely remember someone called Clare. I also remember waking up next to a very naked Jenny, who seemed equally as confused as I was as to our being in the back of Bongo's car, an empty bottle of whiskey next to us.

I groan aloud at my third failed attempt to unlock the door until a voice calls from inside, "It's open, you idiot!"

I stumble in the hallway over a discarded pair of boots, gingerly lean my axe-bass against the wall and make my way to the living room, the source of the voice.

My dad is sitting in the armchair, a bottle of scotch in one hand, a tumbler in the other. He looks as bad as I feel: his eyes are bloodshot, his tie and suit jacket have been discarded, his hair looks as though he has repeatedly run both hands through it without ever flattening it back again. The entire effect would be comical if he wasn't my father, and so very clearly in pain.

"I'd offer you a drink, but you very clearly don't need one," his words are slurred slightly, and I can see the front of his shirt is stained, as though he has spilled scotch on himself in his haste to drink as fast as possible.

Impossible as it is to ignore my hangover, I slouch instead of stride into the room and sit on the couch before asking, "What's happened? Why are you pissed in the middle of the afternoon?"

My stomach lurches unpleasantly as he laughs, his dark head thrown back, the sound far too loud in the small room. "Because work is falling around my ears and I can't do anything to stop it."

Even though I expected this to be at the root of the current situation, I can't help but feel panicked and alarmed at its confirmation.

"Why?"

He speaks slowly and infuriatingly, as though addressing a child or someone simple. "Well, it's a little bit complicated, the grown-up world of work. Not all of us can stay in school forever."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do you think I'm thick or something? Most parents _want _their kids to get a decent education, why have you always been so bloody desperate to be an actuary?"

"Yeah, well most parents are idiots," he says drunkenly, only answering part of my query, too bombed to take in the rest.

I realize that there is absolutely no point in trying to talk to him when he's slammed, so I rise with as much dignity as an extremely hungover seventeen year old with love bites on her thighs can and make for the door.

"That Bonnibel lassie is upstairs waiting for you. She turned up a half hour ago, wanting to talk to you. Looks like you're in trouble," he sniggers at me, then suddenly drops backwards in his chair, head lolling.

I yelp and dive to take his pulse before he lets out an almighty snore and I curse him loudly as icy dread sets in. Bonnie's upstairs? Oh, shit.

I drag my feet as I mount the stairs to my room, glorying in the seconds until I have to face her. If only she'd left me for a few days, to recover from my coke-and-booze flavoured hangover, to try and piece together what happened during my blackouts, to psyche myself up for seeing her again.

When I open my bedroom door she's sitting on my bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looks gorgeous in a pale pink dress and purple cardigan, well-rested and well-groomed. I wish I could say the same for me.

"'Afternoon," I say, shutting the door behind me with the finality of a cellblock key being thrown down a gutter.

"We need to talk," she replies and there's an odd quality to her voice, as though she's either been, or is restraining herself, from crying.

* * *

**Alright, in reply to everyone going on about the cliffy endings: They are as much a prompt for me to keep writing as they are for you to keep reading. But thank you for being patient with me.**

**I love you all, R&R**


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